


Scholar of Dwarves

by Salvia_G



Series: Scholar of Dwarves [1]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Angst, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-29
Updated: 2013-06-11
Packaged: 2017-12-13 09:07:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 37,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/822540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Salvia_G/pseuds/Salvia_G
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Bilbo Baggins was a young hobbit, an encounter with a short story led him to become a student of Dwarven history; and that study led him to travel to Belegost shortly after he reached adulthood. While there, he learns more about not only Dwarves, but also himself; and meets his hero, Thorin Oakenshield, King of Durin's Folk.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Journey Begins

**Author's Note:**

> I am very grateful to the lovely InjaMorgan for all her work in beta-ing this story. In particular, she took my very mangled Khuzdul translations and improved them greatly. (You can, it seems, conjugate in Khuzdul!) Any mistakes that remain are, of course, my own.
> 
> And I thank all of you who said that this was the story you wanted to see; I only hope that you will enjoy it!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, I own nothing, not Tolkien's lovely _The Hobbit_ nor the Peter Jackson films inspired by the book; and I am grateful for the chance to play in Middle Earth's playground too.

 

 

_A Baggins is a creature of habit: others before me have written, and better, of how the Hobbits of the Shire knew what to expect from the respectable Bagginses so well that I will not repeat on these pages what has been written before, only to say that not all Baggins were so predictable:  for one, at least, was half Took.  So it was that in the year 1327 S.R., (or 2927 of the Third Age), Bilbo Baggins left his home in the Shire to go to Ered Luin._

 

 

When Bilbo decided in his thirty-fourth year that he would travel to Ered Luin, he also decided that this must be kept a secret from his mother until the last instant before he left, or he would never be able to go.  He loved his mother very much and knew that she loved him as well; but since his father’s death, she had held him very close to home indeed, even to not wanting him to travel to the Great Smials in Tuckborough to visit his cousins.

 

And truly, he had not wanted to leave her in that year of mourning; but it had been almost two years since he reached his majority, and all that time he had been waiting to go to the Blue Mountains.  He had long ago reached a point in his research where he had learnt  all he might from the work of others; he must go to the Dwarves formerly of Erebor himself to answer the questions remaining before he could write his book.  And Bilbo Baggins _would_ write his book.

 

It was likely the combination in him, Bilbo thought, Took and Baggins both, that had led him to such a strange path for a Hobbit of the Shire.  As a Baggins he was fond of his books and his father’s library, and as a Took he was fond of stories of faraway peoples and lands.  As a Baggins he wanted to know the history and tradition, and as a Took he wanted to know _why_ events had occurred as they had.

 

He supposed he might just have easily fixated on the Elves, and wanted to visit the Elves and go to Rivendell; then he would have learnt Sindarin and read all he could about those august people.  But Bilbo’s first primer as a child had told the story of Smaug the Dragon, and how he had chased the Dwarves out of Erebor into exile, and how that sad people must wander Middle Earth ever since, until they could find a home; and then Bilbo didn’t care about Elves but only Dwarves.

 

His parents had not necessarily understood his obsession, but Bilbo was an only child and perhaps a bit indulged as a result.  They bought him more tales with Dwarves in them; and when Bilbo learned that the storybooks they had bought him told made-up stories of Dwarves rather than the real one that had been his first introduction to them, he informed his parents that play stories were unacceptable:  he wanted real stories about real Dwarves.  So the storybooks were replaced with histories; and though they were all quite advanced for a child his age, being meant for adult readers, Bilbo persevered.

 

Soon the booksellers in Bree knew that any Dwarven history or folklore had a proven market in the Baggins family.  One in particular, who was very fond of the serious young scholar, began to search out rare and unusual volumes that he thought might entice one of Bilbo’s sweet smiles.  Master Stringler’s _Emporium of Books and Scrolls_ became known throughout the West as the best source of all texts Dwarvish outside of Belegost itself, but Stringler continued to save his most interesting finds for Bilbo.

 

By his twenty-fifth year, Bilbo was the correspondent of several scholars in Belegost, one quite important; though none knew of his youth or that he was a Hobbit, only that a Master Bilbo Baggins (c/o _The Emporium of Books and Scrolls_ in Bree) was a most learned and intelligent student of Dwarven history.  Bilbo did not set out to deceive his faraway mentors; rather, the idea of a Hobbit scholar would never have occurred to them.  Most thought him a Man, though one romantic soul had invented a Dwarvish ancestor in his past.

 

So it was that on the first day of Halimath, he sent a letter to Balin, son of Fundin, that he would be leaving for Ered Luin within the month; and that he hoped when he arrived that he might meet with him there in Belegost.  Bilbo was very nervous as he sent this letter; there would be no time to receive a reply, but he knew that if he hesitated his mother would stop him.  Belladonna Baggins was not a Hobbit to be trifled with.

 

Bilbo did not worry that his mother would catch him as he planned his route.  She avoided the library as it reminded her of Bungo (in fact, they still called it Papa’s library rather than Bilbo’s), so Bilbo schemed over his maps in there.  He did worry that she would catch him as he began to stockpile the provisions he would need for travelling.  There was no way he could prepare travel bread or buy all the hard sausage and cheeses he wished to take without her knowledge, so Bilbo determined that he would have to buy some of his supplies in Waymeet and more in Michel Delving.  He also squirreled away items one by one to his cousin Falco over in Hobbiton proper, for tween Falco thought it all a bit of a lark and was happy to help him.

 

And he waited until the day after his birthday before he left; he was not that cruel, and if his mother noted that he gave Falco a travel rucksack for his birthday she did not say anything.  So on the second day of Winterfilth, he told her he planned a trip to Tuckborough to visit his cousins, and would likely be back in a fortnight.  Falco had a letter to deliver to his mother exactly two weeks to the day after he had left.  He hoped two weeks time was enough of a head start.

 

His stop at the Chubb-Baggins’ was short, only long enough to pick up his rucksack and bid good-bye to Falco, and then he was on his way.  The first day he would go as far as Waymeet; and then on to Michel Delving, where he would purchase his provisions.  He had never been beyond that point before.  From there he would cross Westmarch until he reached where the river Lune began to spill into the Gulf of Lune, at the Grey Havens.  Then he did not know if he would follow the river until the Little Lune, and then up to the mouth of that river in Belegost, or travel the road that skirted the foothills of the Blue Mountains.  He hoped to seek advice in the Grey Havens.

 

In the Michel Delving market his cousin Adalgrim found him.

 

“This is a strange way to the Great Smials,” he said.

 

Bilbo nodded.  “It’s possible I’m not going to Tuckborough,” he told Adalgrim, whose eyebrows went so far up his forehead Bilbo could hardly see them.

 

“A bit of a Took under the bookish Baggins, is there?” he said.  “Where are you going, then?  Because you are clearly not just here for market day.”

 

“I don’t know if you want to know,” Bilbo replied.  “If you don’t know, you won’t be on Mama’s list when she learns I’ve gone.”

 

Adalgrim laughed.  “I have a smart Hobbit’s fear of Aunt Belladonna,” he said, “but I’m too curious not to want to know.  I’ll just have to stay away from Hobbiton for a while.”

 

Bilbo bit his lip.  “All right,” he said.  “I’m going to Belegost.”

 

Adalgrim’s eyebrows went all the way up again.  “When you decide to go Took, you go all the way, don’t you?”  He looked at Bilbo: at his tidy rucksack, at the purchases he was making, at his determined face.

 

“Well, you’ll have to wait a day or so,” Adalgrim said.  “I’m coming with you, at least across the Westmarch.”

 

Bilbo didn’t know what to say.  Adalgrim was ten years older than he was, and always better friends with Fortinbras and Isembras.

 

“Why would you do that?” he demanded finally.

 

Adalgrim ruffled Bilbo’s hair.  “’Cause you’re my favourite little cousin, that’s why.  Didn’t you know?”

 

“No,” Bilbo said.  He hadn’t known.

 

“It may be because you weren’t around the Great Smials to always annoy us like Sigismond and Flambard, but there you have it, little Bilbo.  You’re not going without me.”  He smiled.  “Besides, I know what it is to be half Baggins, half Took.”

 

Adalgrim had a room at White Downs, the inn on the Michel Delving square, and it already had a spare bed.  He had _not_ come prepared for a two-month journey, so preparing him for the journey took most of the next day.  Bilbo did not mind the delay too much; he had discovered that he was a bit afraid now that he had reached this point.  He would be glad for company on the first part of his journey.

 

And Adalgrim, it seemed, was a perfect travel companion.  He was funny and smart, even if he didn’t know a thing about Dwarves; he talked sometimes but not all day long; and he knew how to set up camp in the evenings, which Bilbo had not realised he was woefully unprepared to do.  He was glad Adalgrim was around to teach him, even if he also teased him about it.

 

About a week into their journey, Bilbo asked Adalgrim if he had ever left the Shire before.

 

“I’ve been as far as Bree,” he replied.  “We used to go camping a lot in the Buckland.  Always wanted to go up to Lake Evendim, but never quite did.”

 

“You still could go,” Bilbo told him.

 

“I could,” he said.  “But lately I’ve been courting Lupine Boffin.  I don’t think I’ll take two such long trips so close together.”

 

“I’m sorry I took you away from her,” Bilbo said.

 

Adalgrim ruffled his hair again.  It was getting to be a habit of his, and Bilbo didn’t know why it didn’t annoy him.

 

“This way, I’ll be a romantic adventurer,” he said.  “And maybe if she misses me a bit, she’ll take me less for granted.  I like Lupine a lot, but she seems to like having lots of suitors more than she seems to want to choose one.”

 

“What if she chooses another?” Bilbo asked.  He would feel awful if Adalgrim lost his chance with Lupine because he had come with Bilbo to the Grey Havens.

 

“Then she doesn’t love me,” Adalgrim said, “if it can’t stand a few weeks absence.  I’ll be better off.”

 

“I never thought of it that way,” Bilbo said.

 

“Haven’t really courted, have you?” Adalgrim asked, but his voice as he said it was kind.

 

“No,” Bilbo replied.  “Not really been ready.” He paused.  It was more than that, he knew.  No Hobbit compared to the Dwarven heroes in Bilbo’s mind.  Still...  “I don’t know if I’ll ever be ready.”

 

“That’s fine,” Adalgrim said.  “Look at Uncle Isengrim.”  The conversation died off, and they continued walking in silence.

 

“Don’t really want to turn into Uncle Isengrim,” Bilbo said after a while.  Uncle Isengrim often shocked the Shire with his noticeably odd ways.

 

“Nah,” Adalgrim said.  “The Baggins in you will make you staid and fussy and respectable instead.”

 

Bilbo laughed.  “Well that’s much better,” he replied.

 


	2. From the Grey Havens to Belegost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo loses one travelling companion and gains another on his way to Belegost.

 

 

By the time they reached the Grey Havens, Bilbo felt Adalgrim was his favourite cousin too, old or young or in between.  He knew now how difficult his travel would have been without him, and this had been the easiest portion of his journey.  Too, in Adalgrim he had found a kindred spirit; as Adalgrim said, ‘half Baggins, half Took.’  Adalgrim knew what it was like to have such disparate impulses; Adalgrim had shown him, in fact:  impetuously joining him on this adventure (Took), so he could be responsible for a younger cousin (Baggins).

 

The seaport was busy; and there were far more Elves than Bilbo expected, though many of those seemed aloof and weary.  Bilbo wondered if those were the ones who had come to set sail on the ships to the West, but didn’t dare ask.  He was excited, too; for the first time he saw Dwarves in person.  He had never before met one, even in Bree, though he knew they must pass that way sometimes.  Adalgrim had said he would stay until Bilbo left for Belegost, so they looked for an inn.  Bilbo was almost out of his head to find one with a sign in Khuzdul, and wanted to stay there; though the Dwarven innkeep seemed a bit startled and suspicious of Bilbo’s enthusiasm, and Bilbo suspected if he had never met a Dwarf before, the innkeeper had never met a Hobbit.

 

Still, they were able to rent a room, though a bit taken aback at its cost.  Adalgrim insisted that they must move if they found that the price of the room was inflated, but Bilbo was happy to be able to stay for just one night.  Now that they had made it thus far, he felt he was almost to Belegost, though he knew most of his trip remained before him.  He had seen Dwarves!  He had spoken to one!  He sat at a table in an inn where he would be served Dwarven cuisine, next to Dwarves who were speaking what must be Khuzdul!

 

They did receive a few strange looks in the inn’s common room, but mostly they were ignored.  Adalgrim said he would be content just to have a hot meal and he didn’t care what it was, so they ate there, though it was Dwarvish cuisine and strange to both of them.  Bilbo’s studies had not included such things; he did not know what he ate any more than Adalgrim, but he had decided beforehand that it would be delicious, and so he ate it all, though it was spicier than anything he’d eaten in all his life.  Adalgrim coughed and sputtered and ordered another half-pint.

 

As he and Adalgrim lingered after dinner, Bilbo scanned the common room for someone who might help him.  Finally he settled on a gentledwarf who seemed to be travelling alone, but also smiled genially at those around him.

 

“I’d like to go talk to that one,” he told Adalgrim.

 

“What one?” he heard from behind him.  He turned and faced a cagey-looking Dwarf at the neighbouring table.

 

“I have some questions about travelling to Belegost,” Bilbo said.  “I wanted to ask that gentledwarf in the green hood by the fire.”

 

The sly Dwarf looked intrigued.  “Why him?” he said.

 

“He looks kind,” Bilbo replied, and slapped the Dwarf’s hand away from where it had been slipping into Adalgrim’s pocket.

 

“None of that,” he said.  “Hair on our feet doesn’t mean it grows on our eyes, you know.  Good day.”  And Bilbo turned back to motion Adalgrim before him to the Dwarf by the fire.

 

The sly-faced Dwarf stepped in front of them.  He was smiling.  “Ain’t never seen a Hobbit outside of Bree before,” he said.  “Just thought I’d try my luck.  No harm done.”  He lifted his hands up to show they were empty.

 

“When have you been to Bree?” Adalgrim asked.

 

“Oh, now and then,” the Dwarf replied, and bowed.  “Nori, at your service.  Tell me: why do Hobbits go to Belegost?”

 

Bilbo found himself somewhat bemusedly sitting back down with Adalgrim and Nori and telling the Dwarf of his planned trip to the city.

 

“I am a scholar, you see,” he said, “and I have longed to see Belegost for myself, and to study manuscripts that are too rare to leave Dwarven hands.  I have several correspondents in the city, but letters are simply not the same; and my colleagues have other interests.  They have been very kind to me as it is.”

 

Nori shook his head.  “It’s a long way for two Hobbits,” he said, “and a longer way from the Shire.”

 

“Oh, Adalgrim doesn’t go all the way,” Bilbo said.  “After my travel arrangements are made, he will return to the Shire.”

 

On hearing this, Nori seemed to become a bit upset.

 

“You’re practically a babe, and travelling on your own?  Not done.  Maybe if you join a caravan.” He nodded.  “Should be one leaving in the spring.”

 

Bilbo shook his head stubbornly.  “I won’t wait that long,” he said.  “I wrote a letter to my colleague, and he is expecting me.  I don’t want to worry him.”

 

“Not to mention,” Adalgrim added, “that if you wait ‘till spring, Aunt Belladonna will come and get you and take you home.”

 

Bilbo paled.  “I won’t wait for a caravan,” he repeated.

 

“Travelling alone is too dangerous,” Nori said, frowning.

 

“So is Aunt Belladonna,” Adalgrim laughed, then sobered.  “But Bilbo, I can’t like what he says about your travelling alone.  He’s right; it’s a very isolated way.  Better to have companions in case of trouble.”

 

“All right,” Bilbo said.  “How would you suggest I go about finding travelling companions?  And don’t say wait ‘till spring.  Surely some of these Dwarves must be travelling to Belegost sooner than that.”

 

Nori sighed and put his head in his hands.  “I’ll do it,” he muttered.

 

“You’ll do what?  Find me someone to travel with?” Bilbo asked.

 

“No,” he growled.  “I’ll go with you.  My business here is nearly done anyway.”

 

Adalgrim frowned.  “Why should we trust you?” he asked.  “You tried to pickpocket me.  For all we know you’ll rob Bilbo and leave him in the wilderness.”

 

Nori looked offended.  “I would not,” he protested.  “I was only keeping my hand in, and look at him!  There’d be no challenge to it!”

 

Bilbo looked askance at Nori, who shuffled his feet and looked sullen.

 

“You remind me of my younger brother,” he said.  “I would slit the throat of anyone who let him journey from the Grey Havens to Belegost alone.”

 

Adalgrim sat back.  “When do you want to leave?” he said. “I’m only half joking about Aunt Belladonna.”

 

Bilbo looked at Nori, and then at Adalgrim, and then sighed.  “It doesn’t matter what I think, does it?” he asked.

 

“No,” Adalgrim and Nori told him together.

 

Nori said he needed three days to complete his business transactions in the Grey Havens (Bilbo didn’t like to ask), and that Bilbo should take that time to prepare for the trip.  He insisted Bilbo show him a list of the provisions he planned to purchase.  He added items, he crossed out items, and Bilbo found himself rather charmed by the Dwarf’s protectiveness.  Adalgrim was completely won over when, upon finding what they’d been charged for their room, Nori went to argue with the innkeeper and came back with half the money they’d paid.

 

Bilbo and Adalgrim wandered the city in the time they did not use preparing for the trip.  The Grey Havens _were_ busy, but the port sometimes seemed a ghost town.  Once while down at the harbour watching the ships sail in and out, they saw an Elven ship set forth across the western seas.  Those aboard were silent and peaceful, and Bilbo knew it was not the end for them, but it seemed sad to him nonetheless.

 

But three days passed quickly, and then Bilbo had to say goodbye to Adalgrim.

 

“I was very lucky that day in Michel Delving,” he said.  “I don’t know what I would have done without you.”

 

“Slept without a campfire most nights and hiked with wet socks, likely,” Adalgrim joked.

 

Bilbo hugged him tight as he could.  “Favourite cousin,” he said.  “Baggins or Took or both.”

 

Adalgrim hugged him back.  “Me too,” he said.  “Me too.”  He squeezed Bilbo tightly one last time.  “Be safe.”

 

“You too,” Bilbo laughed.  “Now _you_ travel alone.”

 

“True,” Adalgrim replied.  “But I go back to the Shire, not to Belegost.”

 

And then Bilbo and Nori were on their way in the dawn light.  They took the Ered Luin Road rather than the river, which Nori said was better for travelling the other direction.  He was not Adalgrim, but Nori was not a bad travelling companion.  Bilbo had asked politely after his younger brother, whom he learned was named Ori, and a rather studious sort as well.

 

“It was seeing you light up when you talked about those manuscripts,” Nori said.  “It could have been Ori sitting there.  I just knew I’d worry if you went off alone.”

 

“What does Ori study?” Bilbo asked.

 

“Everything,” Nori answered.  “Anything.  But most of all he wants to be a scribe, and a recorder of great events.”

 

“It is a noble profession,” Bilbo told Nori.  “Without scribes, I should not be able to do the work I do.  History should be lost to us without them.”

 

Nori looked almost shy.  “I hope I may introduce you to Ori, when we arrive in Belegost,” he said.

 

“I would like that very much,” Bilbo replied.

 

And so Bilbo’s trip to Belegost went on.  Bilbo had never seen mountains before, and he thought the journey worthwhile just to see the Ered Luin.  They were beautiful in the distance, blue as their name.  The road followed the mountains, but out some distance, along the flat prairie to the east of them.  Nori said that the road would not begin to turn into the foothills and climb until they reached the Little Lune.

 

“The city is actually a bit to the north of the river,” Nori told him.

 

“I know,” Bilbo replied.

 

Nori grinned his sly grin.  “You sound just like Ori when you say that,” he said.

 

He was glad of Nori’s presence for more than simple companionship; this trek was in fact more difficult than the first leg of Bilbo’s journey had been.  The days grew shorter and the weather grew cooler as fall crept towards winter and they gradually moved north; and while the weather was generally dry, often short afternoon thunderstorms came rolling down out of the mountains, forcing them to stop and try to stay as dry and as safe from lightning as they could.

 

More, Nori knew as much about traversing the wilderness as Adalgrim, and he had crossed this land before.  He knew good camps for the night, and signs of wildlife they might try to catch for supper; and he knew what was safe to forage and what was not.  He had insisted Bilbo add a set of throwing knifes to his travel pack, and though Bilbo preferred his slingshot for game, in the evenings once they camped he taught Bilbo how to use them.

 

“Sometimes a knife is kinder,” he said, “and sometimes it’s safer, and it’s not out of place in a city the way a slingshot is.”

 

“Why would I need it in a city?” Bilbo said.  “In a city I can buy my supper.”

 

“You never know,” Nori told him.  “And knowledge is knowledge, scholar Hobbit.”

 

“That’s true,” Bilbo sighed, “but I don’t see it helping me with my Khuzdul.”  Then Bilbo realized he might have said too much.

 

“Who would teach you Khuzdul, Bilbo?” Nori asked after a moment.  His voice was not threatening, exactly; but serious it was.

 

“No one has taught me,” Bilbo complained.  “No one _will_ teach me.  And without it my scholarship will always be limited.  Dwarves do not translate all texts into Westron.  You do not _allow_ some texts to be translated.”  He gloomily kicked a rock along the road.

 

“Yet you spoke of ‘your’ Khuzdul,” Nori said, “as if you have begun to learn the language.”

 

“What of it?” Bilbo challenged him.  “What if I have?”

 

“ _How_ have you?” Nori asked.

 

Bilbo kicked his rock.  “I had a history,” he said, “written in Westron; and I obtained a copy of the same book in Khuzdul.”

 

“Ah,” Nori breathed.

 

“There are not many books in Khuzdul to be had at all,” Bilbo told him.  “But the ones that are available are the most noteworthy, and translations into Westron have been published for all of them.”

 

“How well do you speak it?” Nori asked.  He sounded half amused, half appalled.

 

“Not at all,” Bilbo said.  “I have had no one to teach me how to pronounce the words; so to hear it spoken: not at all.”  He paused, and looked shyly at Nori.  “But I can read it a little.  Though I did not understand the name of that inn in the Grey Havens.”

 

Nori snorted.  “No, that’s just as well; you wouldn’t find that in a history book.”

 

Later that night, as they lay in their bedrolls, Nori told Bilbo quietly, “I could not teach you.  It is forbidden.”

 

“I know,” Bilbo said.

 

“But I would like to write Ori some letters,” he said, “to tell him of my journeys.”  He paused.  “Perhaps you might like to translate them into Westron for me.”

 

Bilbo rolled over to look at Nori, but Nori gazed at the night sky.  “Truly?” he asked.

 

“I’m not good with rules anyway,” Nori muttered.

 

“Thank you,” Bilbo told him.  “I – thank you.”

 

“Go to sleep,” Nori said.

 

“I think you must be a very good big brother,” Bilbo replied.

 

And the next night after they camped, instead of teaching Bilbo how to throw knives, Nori wrote out a letter in Khuzdul and left it weighted with a rock by the fire as he rolled up in his bedroll and faced out to the darkness.  Bilbo waited a moment, and then he snatched it up and began to write it out in Westron as best he could.  He left his effort under the rock with the original.  He did not see Nori do it, but in the morning his _corrected_ letter was beneath the rock.


	3. Arrival

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo and Nori arrive in Belegost; and Bilbo meets Balin, son of Fundin.

 

 

 

The closer Belegost grew, the more animated Nori became.  As they turned to follow the Little Lune up into the mountains, he spoke more and more of Ori, and what they would do together once they arrived, and what Ori was learning, and in generally so much about Ori that Bilbo would have thought Ori his own son.  So Bilbo was surprised to learn that Nori did not live with Ori.

 

“No, he lives with our mother,” Nori said, his tone defensive.

 

“I suppose you did say he is rather young yet,” Bilbo replied.  “Your mother must be happy to have your help with him when you are in Belegost.”

 

“Hmm,” Nori muttered.

 

“Do you live on your own, then?” Bilbo asked.  “I must say I love my mother very much, and I do not know what it would be like to live without her, but there are times it is very difficult to be grown and still at home.  Is it nice, to have your own place?” Bilbo asked wistfully.

 

“It is mostly quiet,” Nori replied, “but I am not there often.”

 

“You must travel often for your business,” Bilbo said.  Hesitantly, he continued.  “What is your business, exactly?”

 

“This and that,” Nori evaded.  It was not precisely an answer to his question, but Bilbo let it go.  Nori had been too kind to him; Bilbo did not want to make him uncomfortable.

 

And then Bilbo mostly had to save his breath for the hike up past the foothills and into the mountain proper, and conversation between them died off during the day.  He had thought he had become strong these last weeks, but seeing the ease with which Nori traversed the steep mountain trail and comparing it to his own difficulties: well.  He was not as strong as he had thought.  But Nori encouraged him one evening as their supper cooked.

 

“It’s harder, in the mountains,” he said.  “You do well for your first time.  I am a Dwarf, and we are used to the ups and downs of these slopes, and the way the air grows thin.”  He smiled.  “It is not so far now.”

 

“How far is it?” Bilbo asked.

 

“A day and a half, perhaps,” Nori said.  “Perhaps one day, if it is a very long day.”

 

Bilbo looked at Nori eagerly.  “May we try for one long day?” he asked.  “We can rise early, and eat our meals as we walk.”

 

Nori laughed.  “I am happy to do so,” he said.  “I will be glad to see Ori, and to sleep in a bed again.  But will your friend be expecting you?  We will arrive late, after dinner.”

 

“He is my colleague,” Bilbo corrected.  “I cannot presume to call him a friend; though I hope he may become one, for we have never met.  But I did write to tell him I came.  If he cannot host me, surely you can show me to an inn?”

 

Nori frowned at him.  “If he doesn’t want you, then you will stay with me,” he said.  “You have never met?”

 

“No,” Bilbo said.  “I don’t think he travels much; certainly he has never come to Bree in the time that we have written each other.”

 

Nori’s expression darkened, if anything.  “What do you know of this Dwarf?  Who is he?”

 

“I am sure he will not take advantage of me,” Bilbo reassured.  “He has been most kind, and he is very well-educated.  His name is Balin, son of Fundin.”

 

Nori sat up, his face blank.  “I think you are right; he will not take advantage of you.”  He grimaced.

 

“You know him?” Bilbo asked, pleased.  “Truly, I have been very lucky this trip!”  He paused, and looked at Nori’s face again.  “But why do you make that face then?”

 

“I do not know him; I know _of_ him,” Nori told Bilbo.  “He is a great Dwarf in Belegost, and advisor to the king.”

 

Bilbo sighed happily.  “Perhaps I shall meet him, then: the great Thorin Oakenshield!  And he will tell me of Azanulbizar, and fighting the terrible Azog!”

 

“He may,” Nori said indulgently.  “And I am sure it will all go in your book.”

 

“Of course!” Bilbo declared.  “It would be a rare coup, to speak with Thorin Oakenshield.”

 

But Nori’s smile dropped then.  “I cannot take you to him,” he said.

 

“I’m sure we will find someone to direct us,” Bilbo reassured him.

 

“No,” Nori said, “I mean, I can’t meet him, and I can’t go to his house.”

 

It was Bilbo’s turn to frown.  “Why not?” he demanded.

 

“He lives with his brother, and I can’t...well, let’s just say he doesn’t really approve of my business.”

 

“He needn’t approve,” Bilbo protested.  “We go to Balin, not his brother!  Wouldn’t you like to meet him?”

 

Nori sighed.  “When I say he wouldn’t approve, I mean he would arrest me on sight.  He is of the King’s Guard in Belegost.”

 

“Oh, Nori,” Bilbo said with disapproval.

 

“You sound just like Ori when you say that,” Nori muttered.

 

***

 

The next day was a long one.  They rose before dawn, as the sky was barely beginning to lighten.  Breakfast was the last of the stew from the night before, cold; and then they were on their way.  Luncheon and dinner would be hard cheese and the last of their sausage.  Bilbo knew he would be hungry in between; he was not used to the Dwarven habit of only eating three meals a day as of yet, though he thought he might become so with time.  He missed his elevenses, though.  And teatime.  And second breakfast, though a larger first breakfast helped there.

 

Happily, however, Bilbo found that Nori was right.  It was still not easy for him; and his legs ached, but on this, their third day climbing, Bilbo found he had the rhythm of it.  Though the air did seem to grow noticeably thinner as the day went on, and he had to pause for breath often.

 

“Will we still be able to arrive today?” Bilbo asked.  “I know we are having to stop more than you thought.”

 

“We shall arrive tonight,” Nori assured him.  “Though it may be late for going to Balin’s.  I think you must stay with me tonight.”

 

“I would not like to impose,” Bilbo said.

 

“You don’t,” Nori told him.  “And I want you to know where you can find me, just in case.”

 

“Thank you,” said Bilbo.  “You have been very kind to me.”

 

Nori blushed.

 

It was indeed late when they arrived in Belegost; the last part of their journey they had travelled by moonlight.  Dwarves still walked the ways of the city, though many seemed to be hurrying home.  Bilbo noted that Nori made hand signs to several Dwarves as they passed, in Iglishmêk, he supposed.  He wondered wistfully if he might be able to learn the Dwarven sign language as well, but suspected not.  He sighed.  It didn’t matter.  He didn’t really need it for his research, anyway.

 

Nori’s home was small and rather bare.  He seemed a bit embarrassed, so Bilbo determinedly noticed only the comfort of the sofa on which he would sleep, and the joy of having warm meals to look forward to.  Indeed, he thought he would have slept well that night on the thinnest of mattresses after the weariness of the day; but he had some trouble calming for sleep.  He lay awake for some time after Nori had retired.  Belegost!  He was finally here, in Belegost!

 

In the morning, Nori was gone; but by the time Bilbo washed his face and folded his linens, he was back with some sort of delicious smelling pastry.  It was a peppery sausage wrapped in a chewy bread, and Bilbo liked it very much.  Nori ate it with mustard, though it was breakfast!  Bilbo tried it, but the mustard was very hot, and he was happy enough to have his sausage roll plain.  Nori would not tell him the name in Khuzdul.

 

“You must not know such things, or you will slip,” he told Bilbo.  “Concentrate on learning what you need for your historical research.”  Bilbo knew Nori was right; it was like the Iglishmêk; but still he yearned to know.

 

After they broke their fast, Nori smiled fondly at Bilbo.  “Are you ready?” he asked.  “Now your adventure truly begins!”  Bilbo was not sure he _was_ ready, he was so nervous; but he would not give up when he had come so far.

 

“I am ready,” he told Nori.  “Though I would like to see you again, and meet Ori.  When do you think we might?”

 

Nori tilted his head as he thought.  “I will send a note to you,” he said.  “So we may meet without any danger of Dwalin, son of Fundin.”

 

“That is Balin’s brother?” Bilbo asked.

 

Nori nodded.  “I don’t fear many, but I fear him.”

 

Nori walked him to the beginnings of the district where Balin lived, and drew a map for him to follow from there.  The halls of Belegost were very different from the paths of the Shire.  Either the way fell away on either side, open to the cavern all around; or it followed an enclosed tunnel that might turn and curve so Bilbo could only see a bit ahead.  Nevertheless, Nori’s map was easy to follow; and it was not long before he stood before the door to Balin’s home.  He knocked, and an older dwarf with a white beard answered the door.  He seemed perplexed.

 

“Good morning,” he said.

 

“Good morning!  I seek Balin, son of Fundin,” Bilbo told him.

 

The Dwarf’s puzzlement grew.  “I am he,” he replied.

 

Bilbo bowed.  “Bilbo Baggins, at your service,” he said.

 

Balin’s face broke out in a smile.  “Bilbo Baggins!” he cried.  “Imagine that, a Hobbit!  And finally here!”

 

Bilbo could not but grin in return.  “I am very happy to be in Belegost,” he said.

 

“Indeed, indeed!” said Balin.  “Come in!”

 

Balin turned out to be a generous and kind host.  He would not allow Bilbo to even think of finding an inn, but insisted that he must stay with him.

 

“I have been planning for it,” Balin said.  “And the guest room is already prepared!”  He laughed.  “Though I confess the bed is sized for a Man.  That Bilbo Baggins, scholar of Dwarven history, should be a Hobbit:  it did not occur to me.”

 

“It is a bit unusual of me,” Bilbo replied.  “For Hobbits, I mean.”

 

“How came you to it?” Balin asked him.  So Bilbo told him of his first storybook, and reading of Erebor’s fall to Smaug.

 

“I have been fascinated ever since, and my fascination has only grown,” Bilbo said, smiling.  “I am so happy to be here, and to be able to continue my research!  For I have done all that I could from the Shire.”

 

“I am amazed that you could learn any of it in the Shire,” Balin said.  “I am even more impressed than I was, Master Baggins.  As I am by your youth!”

 

Bilbo blushed.

 

“You must call me Bilbo,” he said, “please.  I am so gratified; I have learnt so much from your correspondence!”

 

“And I have learnt from our correspondence as well,” he told Bilbo, stroking his beard.  “I suspect because you are not a Dwarf, perhaps you see what we do not; as we know it must be so.”

 

“I do not know,” Bilbo said, “only that I am so happy to be here!”  He thought he might dance a jig around Balin’s sitting room.  “Belegost!” he cried.

 

Balin laughed.  “This morning I am called to the king’s council,” he said.  “I should like to give you a tour, and to show you the library here in Belegost.  I am afraid my personal library is almost entirely in Khuzdul.  But it must wait until after luncheon at the earliest.”

 

“I will be fine,” Bilbo told him.  “I should actually like to rest from my long journey, and I must write my mother.  Is there a place I may post such a letter?”

 

“Of course, of course,” Balin replied.  “And you must use my study: here.”  And Balin showed him through a stone (stone!) door into a study that was very different from Bilbo’s at home, but still cosy in its own way.  An inscription in Khuzdul wound its way around the topmost edge of the walls, and Bilbo privately determined that he would try to translate it once Balin had left.  He did not dare look too closely now.

 

Balin’s kindness showed in another way here; a second desk sat across from what was clearly his own, though it was again Man-sized.

 

Balin tutted.  “Luckily, I chose a desk whose legs could be adjusted, as I thought it would be more useful to a Dwarf after you were done with it.  When my brother returns this evening, we shall change it to suit you better.”

 

“It was very kind of you to think of it at all,” Bilbo said.

 

Balin smiled, and bowed.  “At your service, Master Baggins,” he replied.

 

“You must call me Bilbo!” Bilbo said.  “I am sure I don’t know who Master Baggins is; all do call me Bilbo.  And though we have just met, we have written each other almost nine years now.”

 

“Very well,” said Balin.  “And now I must go, if you are sure that you will have everything that you need.  My brother may return with me for luncheon, and I will be happy to introduce you then.  It is a small household; only the two of us.”

 

Bilbo assured him that he did indeed have everything he needed, and he did; his desk had been supplied with quills – nibs already sharpened – and ink and paper, with sealing wax and even a very small water clock.  It was rather uncomfortable perched high on the chair, but from there he could reach the desk just fine.  It was more uncomfortable writing his letter to his mother.

 

 

_Dear Mama,_

 

_I have arrived safely in Belegost; indeed my journey was very smooth and, I believe, relatively swift for such a distance.  It is lovely here in the mountains, and I think you would like them very much._

 

_Balin son of Fundin is a very kind and considerate host.  You will think it quite funny: he thought me to be a Man, and had prepared for my arrival with this in mind.  My bed is quite enormous, as is the desk I sit at as I write to you._

 

_I am very sorry for the deception, Mama, and I love you very much; but I felt I must do this, and I knew you would never let me go so far away.  I am a grown Hobbit, though; and this is my life’s work.  I hope you may forgive me._

 

_I do miss you._

 

_With love, your son,_

_Bilbo_

 

 

After Bilbo had finished his letter (He found he must write several drafts; truly, it was very hard to write to Mama; he felt so bad.  He hoped she was not too lonely.), he turned his attention to the inscription on the wall.  _Tusâl sankatûbul ukundimi udlagîn_ , it read.  _The hunter for perfect knowledge travels to faraway places._   Bilbo rather liked that.  He leaned back in his chair and looked around the study.  A small bookshelf with Khuzdul titles sat behind Balin’s desk.  He felt rather guilty, but he went to see what they were.  Some of them were books that Bilbo had, but most were new.

_Umlhekhûh Ereboru_ ; _The Greater Kings of Erebor.  Urm Smaug mahdlug uzn; The great worm Smaug exiled great evil?  Exiled by the great worm & terrible evil Smaug?_  Maybe that was the better translation.   _Azghar belkur ruk rakhâs; To Wage Mighty War over the Orcs._ He stopped.

 _Uhrad Khazad-dûmu; The Greatest Struggle for Khazad-dûm._  He really shouldn’t.  Truly, he shouldn’t; he was a guest in Balin’s home, and this was a terrible abuse of his hospitality.

 

Still he took _Uhrad Khazad-dûmu_ from the shelf and curled up with it in a plush chair in the corner of the study, somewhat hidden from the door.  Bilbo read with a nervous eye on the study door; and when it began to open he hid the book under the chair cushion, and hurriedly rose to greet Balin.

 

“I have finished my letter,” he said.  “Is it already time for luncheon?  I think I may have napped in this very comfortable chair.”

 

Balin’s brother Dwalin was at luncheon, and Bilbo found him very different from the erudite Balin.  He was not uneducated, but his conversation was quite terse, Bilbo thought; and he had chosen a very different career from Balin.  When he commented later on it to Balin, Balin smiled and shook his head.

 

“All Dwarves know something of weapons, as all Dwarves know something of mining; I think I am the one who is a bit unusual between Dwalin and me.  But all Dwarves also care deeply about the history of our people, and since our exile from Erebor it has become even more important to us.  Our history is all that is left to us.”

 

Bilbo disagreed.  “You have built something to be proud of here,” he told Balin.  “Of course your past is important; you know I believe that.  But the future of the Dwarves lies ahead, and it seems good to me.”

 

Balin studied him.  “Yes,” he said.  “An outside eye.”  He smiled at Bilbo, and they continued their tour of Belegost.  Bilbo was, indeed, amazed at the Dwarven city.

 

“We live in very little of the ancient city,” Balin told him.  “The War of Wrath destroyed it, as the Ered Luin was torn apart.  But some we are able to explore, and to recover, and perhaps someday we will live in all of Belegost again.”

 

“You see,” Bilbo said.  “A great history, and a bright future, with much ahead!”  He and Balin stood on a bridge that crossed the great central chasm of Belegost, with a wondrous view of the city below.  “How do those Dwarves who remained in the Blue Mountains cohabit with Durin’s Folk?” he asked.

 

Balin pursed his lips.  “Politically we are two parallel entities,” he replied, “and it does affect the lives of the city.  Some neighbourhoods are mixed, yet more are separated into the old Ered Luin and the Ereborian immigrant.  But shops and the marketplace belong to Dwarves of all lines, and there is not much discrimination in interactions between our clans.  The problems are when a dispute arises between members of the two different groups.  We have no joint mechanism to settle such things.”

 

Bilbo nodded.  “There is not a council of all the Dwarves?” he asked.

 

“Who would lead it?”  Balin asked in his turn.  “There must be one leader, and we of Erebor will not defer to the Lord of Belegost above Thorin, nor will they of the Blue Mountains defer to Thorin instead.  So we live in this uneasy balance.”

 

“It is all very different from the Shire,” Bilbo said.

 

“Perhaps with time things will settle out,” Balin sighed.  “But Dwarves are slow to change in such things.”

 

“The Lord of Belegost and the King of Durin’s Folk must be the same person,” Bilbo suggested.  Does the Lord have a daughter?  Might Thorin marry?  Then the lines would be united in their child.”

 

“Dwarves marry for love or not at all,” Balin told him.  “And though the Lord of Belegost does have a daughter, Thorin will not marry her.”

 

“It seems a shame he could not fall in love with her,” Bilbo said.  “It would be very convenient.”

 

“Thorin will marry no Dwarven lady,” Balin replied.  Bilbo desperately wanted to know why not, but he could not ask such a question.  It was not any of his business.

 

They stood there in silence a while longer, watching the lights of Belegost sparkle below, before Bilbo turned to Balin.

 

“May we go to the library now?” he asked.  “I should very much like to.”  Balin laughed, and gestured to show Bilbo the way.


	4. Settling In

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo begins to settle in to his life in Belegost, and meets two Dwarves.

 

  

The library was several districts away from the one in which Balin resided.  Bilbo thought it might be an hour’s walk each way.  He remarked on the distance to Balin.

 

“The library sits in an old district,” Balin replied, “and I live in a new.”

 

“I shall find the walk interesting,” Bilbo assured Balin.  “And it will be good for me to see a bit of the city each day.”

 

Balin seemed amused.  “Do you intend to go to the library every day?” he asked.

 

Bilbo smiled sheepishly.  “Yes?” he said.  “At least, most days.”

 

Balin’s smile was openly paternal.  “You intend to read every book in Westron in the library, don’t you?”

 

“I would read every one I could,” Bilbo admitted.  “I know I cannot, but … I would if I could.  But I must at least complete my research.”

 

“What do you intend to focus on?” Balin asked him.

 

Bilbo took a deep breath.   “Azanulbizar,” he said. “The battle there that ended the War of the Dwarves and the Orcs.”

 

Balin’s eyebrows went up.  “Ambitious,” was all he said.  Bilbo carefully kept his eyes on the road.

 

***

 

That evening at dinner, Dwalin seemed more relaxed, and Bilbo felt more comfortable with him as a result.

 

“It seems your afternoon was pleasant,” he offered tentatively as they sat to eat.

 

“Aye,” Dwalin said.  “This morning was useless; but in the afternoon I led the training of the Guard, and that always means I can work away some cares.”

 

“I am sorry your morning was so bad,” Bilbo told him.

 

“Not bad,” Dwalin replied.  “Just wasted.  I have been tracking the very devil of a rogue this last year, and I have learned that he has returned to Belegost at last; but I could not find him this morning.  Still.  He will not escape me forever.”

 

Bilbo’s forehead furrowed.  He hoped not, but…

 

“Is he a very desperate criminal?” he asked.

 

Dwalin smiled the same paternal smile Balin had earlier that day.  “You must not worry,” he said.  “Belegost is safe.”

 

“I do not worry,” Bilbo said.  “I feel quite safe here.”   _Oh, please, no._  “How will you know when you have found him?”

 

“I could not mistake Nori for any other Dwarf,” Dwalin replied.  “And I know his ways.”

 

Bilbo’s heart sank.   _Oh, Nori_ , he thought.  Dwalin seemed a very competent Dwarf.

 

“And what of you?” Dwalin asked him.  “How do you find Belegost?”

 

“It is amazing!” Bilbo told him.  “Quite astonishing!”  And he told Dwalin of everything that Balin had shown him that afternoon, and Dwalin and Balin leaned back in their chairs to listen to Bilbo enthuse about their city.

 

“And tomorrow, of course, I will go back to the library to begin my research,” he concluded.  “I do not think I shall be back until evening.”

 

Balin laughed.  “You must stop to eat, my friend,” he said.

 

“I will,” Bilbo assured him, “but I shall likely find a little café closer to the library for luncheon; I think I saw several.”  He smiled at the brothers, and patted his little paunch.  “And you must not be concerned, for a Hobbit will never forget his meals.”

 

The next day, however, Bilbo found that he did; for he was so enthralled in his book that he read right through elevenses and only stopped in time for luncheon.   _I am becoming accustomed to eating like a Dwarf after travelling with Nori_ , he thought.   _Still, I will stop for teatime this afternoon_. _I must not waste away in the library._

 

Before he began his research again after luncheon, however, he wandered a bit so he might learn his way around the library.  While the Westron books were shelved together in one corner of the library, he noted that access to those written in Khuzdul was not closed off at all; and none seemed to take note as he wandered the shelves, though he did not dare to touch a book yet.  He supposed few but Dwarves came here, and they must think their Khuzdul safe from the few non-Dwarves that did.  Bilbo felt a bit guilty, as he had when he read Balin’s _Uhrad Khazad-dûmu_ , but he could not allow that to stop him.  His research was too important for that.

 

It was as he returned to Balin’s home in the early evening that a young Dwarf – just a lad, really – approached him quickly and handed him a note, then ran off without a word.  Bilbo was quite astonished; but when he opened the note, he saw it was from Nori.   _I will meet you at The Yellow Sapphire for luncheon tomorrow_ , it said.   _Be sure you come alone. Nori_

 

Bilbo thought this was all a bit exciting and mysterious.   _I wonder what a rogue does_ , he thought.  He remembered what Nori had said when he asked about his business.   _This and that_ , he had answered.  What exactly were this and that?  It must be rather shady indeed for Nori to have come to the attention of the King’s Guard.

 

He was very careful to check that he was not followed as he left the library for luncheon the next day.  He did not have to worry much about his path being traced, as he got a bit lost and ended up taking a circuitous route completely by accident.  He was very happy to see Nori; and Nori, he thought, happy to see him. With Nori was a younger Dwarf, fresh-faced and with the same ears that stuck out a bit from the side of his head.  Aside from the ears, there was not much resemblance between the brothers; but it must be Ori that was with him.

 

“Good afternoon,” Bilbo said brightly.  “Bilbo Baggins, at your service.”

 

Ori greeted him shyly, his voice quiet, “Ori, at yours,” and Nori bowed.

 

“They’re treating you well, the sons of Fundin?” he asked.

 

“Very well indeed,” Bilbo assured him.  “I want for nothing, and Balin anticipated my needs better than I did.”  He explained about his room, and his desk, and the misunderstanding regarding his race.  “I am very happy there, and the library!  I am sure I have never seen anything so wonderful as Belegost’s library!”

 

Nori laughed, but Ori became animated as well.  “It is the pride of the West, I think,” he enthused.  “I am sure Erebor’s was greater, but what can the Grey Havens or Rivendell have that could compare?”

 

“The Shire has nothing like it,” Bilbo agreed, and they were fast friends from that moment.  Nori beamed at them; Bilbo thought all Dwarves were quite sweet to be so pleased with others.  When they parted, it was only after they had agreed to meet again next week, though Nori said he might be delayed by ‘business.’  Bilbo returned to the library and did not emerge until dinnertime.

 

The next week flew by, and the next, and the next.  Bilbo continued to meet Ori once a week for lunch, but Nori had only been able to join them again one time, and he had left early.

 

“He’s very busy,” Ori said uncomfortably.  “I’m sure he would be here if he could.”

 

“I am happy to meet with just you as well,” Bilbo told him, “and I am sure Nori would be bored by our talk of manuscripts and books.  How goes your search for a sponsor?”  For Ori must have a sponsor to progress much further in his studies; he could not complete his apprenticeship without one.

 

“Not well, I think, though Dori and Nori _are_ very encouraging,” Ori said.  “But they are my brothers, so they must say so, mustn’t they?  But there are not many sponsors to be had.”

 

“I did not know you had two brothers,” Bilbo said curiously.

 

Ori nodded.  “Dori is eldest, then Nori, then me,” he told Bilbo.  He looked down at the table and bit his lip.  “We all have different fathers, and Dori and Nori do not get along,” he added.

 

“How interesting your family is,” Bilbo replied, “but how sad that your brothers cannot agree.  I am afraid I cannot know what it is like; I have no siblings at all.”

 

Ori looked at him, eyes wide.  “You do not despise us for it?”

 

“For what?  That your brothers fight?” Bilbo laughed.  “I may have no siblings, but I have many cousins.  I think I know more about brothers than that.”

 

“No,” Ori whispered.  “I mean because of our fathers.”

 

“I do not see why I would,” Bilbo told him.  “I know it is unusual among Dwarves, but it is nothing to be ashamed of.”  Ori smiled his shy smile again then, and the talk turned back to scholarly topics.

 

Two weeks later, when they met and Ori said he had still not found a sponsor, Bilbo frowned.

 

“I can’t see why,” he said.  “You are most deserving.”

 

Ori shrugged.  “Perhaps,” he said, “but I do not have many connections, and that seems to make a difference.

 

“Hmm,” was all Bilbo said.

 

That evening at dinner Bilbo asked Balin if he might invite a guest to join them next week.  “He is a very promising young scholar I have met,” Bilbo said, “and I should like you to meet him as well.”

 

Balin smiled genially at him.  “I should be happy to,” he said.  “Only tell me the date.”

 

So Bilbo sent Ori a note, asking that he come to Balin’s for dinner the next day they met.  Ori found him in the library the next morning.

 

“You would do this for me?” he asked in amazement.  “It would be a great honour to dine with Balin, son of Fundin.  To think!  Me, dining with a member of the King’s Council!”

 

Bilbo laughed, and patted Ori on the back.  “You are my friend,” he said.  “Of course I would.”

 

Bilbo was a bit nervous for Ori when it came to be time for their dinner, but he was also quite happy for his friends to meet.  He knew that Balin would like Ori; who could not?  And Balin would be a very good connection for Ori indeed.

 

But all was nearly ruined when Ori was invited into the parlour and introduced himself.

 

“Ori, at your service,” he said.

 

“Brother of Nori?” Dwalin asked, his eyes narrowing, and Ori turned pale, then flushed and lifted his chin.

 

“I am proud to call him my brother, yes,” he said, and Bilbo felt proud of Ori as well as a bit sick.

 

But if Dwalin seemed suspicious, Balin did not; and he was all a gracious host should be.  Bilbo was very glad he had thought of it, and he thought that Ori had made a good impression on both of the Fundin brothers by the end of their meal.

 

After he had departed, Balin turned shrewd eyes on Bilbo.  “I suppose he needs a sponsor?” he asked.

 

“He does,” Bilbo replied, “and I do not know why he doesn’t have one, when he is clearly a very superior student of his craft!”

 

Dwalin frowned.  “His connection to his brother cannot help. And his mother...” he trailed off.

 

“Ori should be judged on his own merits,” Bilbo said stoutly, and Balin nodded.

 

“You are right,” he said, “and very kind to have thought of him.”  He paused.  “I must think on it.”

 

And in the morning, Balin said he would look at Ori’s work; and if he found it good, he would sponsor him himself.

 

Bilbo could not help himself; he hugged him.  “You will not be sorry!” he cried.  “I am sure of it.”

 

Balin laughed, and patted Bilbo on the back.  “Have him come back tomorrow, in the morning.”

 

So Bilbo hurried off to send a note to Ori, and decided he would not go to the library on the morrow after all but would wait with his friend.  Ori was early, and looked a bit green; but Bilbo reassured him.

 

“You have done your best, and it is quite good,” he told him.  “Anyone could see it, and Balin is a Dwarf of discernment.”

 

Balin, who was just entering the room, laughed.  “You think the best of us all,” he said.  “Still, I look forward to seeing your work, Ori.  I am sure it is good.”

 

Ori blushed, and laid his portfolio on the table.  Bilbo could see that Balin was impressed; he was _very_ impressed, though Bilbo did not know if Ori could read him.  Balin had just finished looking at Ori’s work when Dwalin interrupted them to whisper in his ear.  He frowned.

 

“I apologize, but I must go,” he said.  “Ori, if you would, come back tomorrow?”

 

“I will,” said Ori, and Balin left with Dwalin.  Ori collapsed.  “He did not like it,” he moaned.

 

Bilbo rushed to comfort him.  “He did, and very much,” he said.  “Else why would he have you back? You must have confidence!”  With more talk like this, Ori gradually became less nervous, and finally left just before elevenses.

 

And Bilbo’s day seemed to only grow more exciting; for when Balin and Dwalin returned for luncheon, they were accompanied by Thorin Oakenshield, king of Durin’s Folk.


	5. Sanmelhekh, the Perfect King

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo and the hero of Azanulbizar, Thorin Oakenshield.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Of course I owe a great debt anyway to both Tolkien and Jackson for creating this world I play in, but in this chapter I use a line directly from the 2012 Hobbit movie. It is in italics, and marked with an asterisk.

 

Bilbo had wanted to have the opportunity to meet Thorin II, king of Durin’s Folk, son of Thrain son of Thror, exiled from his rightful kingdom of Erebor; but secretly he had wished more to meet Thorin Oakenshield, the hero of Azanulbizar.  He was not disappointed.  Thorin had both a majestic mien and a romantic air to him.  He was sombre and restrained, but he was also gracious when introduced to Bilbo.  His eyes were a striking blue, and his dark hair had streaks of silver to lend it dignity.  If asked to name the embodiment of _sanmelhekh_ , the perfect king, Bilbo could only have named Thorin Oakenshield.

 

“Thorin, allow me to present to you Bilbo Baggins, a scholar of Dwarven history visiting from the Shire,” Balin said.

 

Thorin soberly inclined his head, but said nothing.

 

“A-ah-ah—“ Bilbo stammered.  He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, then bowed.  “At your service, your Majesty.”

 

“Master Baggins,” Thorin replied. For a long moment he seemed to be studying Bilbo.  Then he smiled, and Bilbo was stunned by the beauty of his smile.  “You are welcome in Belegost.”

 

Bilbo bowed again.  “I thank your majesty,” he said, wincing at the high and shaky tone of his own voice.  Must he show his nervousness so obviously?

 

At dinner, his excitement and confusion led him to a mortifying amount of stuttering and squeaking.  When Thorin asked him how he found Belegost, he blushed red and stammered.

 

“I...um...Belegost...well, I...” he tried.  He took a deep breath, and began again.  “Belegost is magnificent, and the library astoundingly comprehensive,” he managed.  “I believe I shall find everything I need to complete my research while I am here.”

 

Again Thorin smiled his striking smile.  “I would not have thought the library had many books written in Westron,” he said.  “I am gladdened to hear that is not the case.”

 

Bilbo bit his lip.  The library did have many books written in Westron, but few on Azanulbizar.  Bilbo was stealthily reading a book at a time from that section of the main library, the Khuzdul library.  He stuttered nervously as he replied.

 

“No, I...um...On the contrary, your majesty, the collection is extensive,” Bilbo replied.  He cleared his throat and hoped that no one could see that he lied.  But Balin and Dwalin were their usual selves, and Thorin still smiled at him.  It seemed none of them had actually visited the library’s Westron collection.

 

Balin turned the conversation to other topics, and Bilbo sighed gratefully.  He was still aware of Thorin’s eyes upon him.  Though he listened distractedly, Bilbo did not try to join in the conversation but opted for silence instead.  He had hardly dared to hope for such an opportunity to speak with Thorin Oakenshield; and now that it was here, he was distraught.  How could he beg for an interview like this?  Thorin seemed all that was kind and gracious, but Bilbo still could not speak to him without stammering like a fool.  He tried several times to no avail; he was too nervous.  Though the king lingered through two cups of tea after dinner (Balin seemed rather exasperated at the lateness of the hour, but was too polite a host to insist Thorin leave), Bilbo Baggins, friendly Hobbit, interested scholar … could not speak in the presence of Thorin Oakenshield.

 

Balin teased him about his nerves just a bit afterwards, until he saw that Bilbo was genuinely upset.

 

“He is the hero of Azanulbizar!” Bilbo wailed.  “Just think what a difference it would make, to be able to record his impressions of the battle for all Dwarfdom!  But I could not ask him a single question.  I could not ask him if he had eggs for breakfast or if he preferred toast, much less ‘what was it like to destroy the terrible Azog’!”

 

Balin patted Bilbo’s shoulder.  “I promise you shall have another opportunity,” he said.  “And in the meantime, I can provide you with other veterans of that battle.”

 

Bilbo looked up.  “You can?” he asked hopefully.

 

Balin smiled sadly.  “You live with two of them,” he replied.

 

Bilbo gasped.  “I never thought; you never said!”

 

“No,” Balin said.  “I…It will be difficult to talk about that day.  But I will for you.  I can see what it means to you.”

 

Bilbo grasped Balin’s hands.  “I am so honoured,” he told him.  “A veteran of Azanulbizar.”  Hesitantly, he asked, “Did you see it?  When Thorin fought Azog?”

 

Balin’s eyes seemed to go to some far off place.  “I did,” he said.  “I thought:   _there is one I could follow.  There is one I could call king_.*”  Bilbo would not have thought any less after meeting the king of the Dwarves exiled from Erebor.

 

Balin was as good as his word; he allowed Bilbo his many questions on that day and on the days to follow as Bilbo thought of more he wanted to ask.  Bilbo also interviewed Dwalin in the evenings; and while Dwalin was gruff and self-conscious, he was an excellent witness as well.  He remembered many details of the battle that would have escaped most others, and he had been both in the thick of battle and in such a position to observe most of the battlefield.  He did not say, but Bilbo could see that he too had been a great hero on that day.

 

Balin introduced Bilbo to other veterans of Azanulbizar as well, and Bilbo began to feel that he truly understood what had happened that day.  Should he ever have the opportunity to speak with Thorin, he knew he would be ready.  Should he be able to speak.  But he also knew, and he thought perhaps Balin guessed, that these veterans had only confirmed the suspicions Bilbo had long held about Azanulbizar: it was a mistake; it was a grievous mistake which had caused Durin’s Folk exiled from Erebor grievous harm.  He still held hope that he might have his interview with Thorin, but he could begin to write his book.

 

He hoped it would not get him thrown out of Belegost.

 

Bilbo continued to go to the library in the morning for research, but he now spent the latter part of the day compiling his notes and beginning the first draft of his manuscript.  He would see Ori often during this time, for Balin had done as Bilbo had hoped and was now Ori’s sponsor.  Bilbo had seen Nori once since Balin had taken on Ori, and he had thanked Bilbo with tears in his eyes, and pledged his friendship and service forever, and that of his children and grandchildren.  Bilbo had blushed and told him not to carry on so; Ori had earned the position on his own merits.

 

“But you are the one who gave him the chance,” Nori insisted.

 

“Balin gave him the chance,” Bilbo corrected gently.  “I just gave him my friendship, and I am sure I have received far more than I gave.”

 

Nori only clasped his hands and blinked back his tears.  “Always at your service,” he declared.  “Should you choose to go to the very gates of Erebor to question Smaug on the historical importance of his role on the day the Lonely Mountain was lost, I will be with you.”

 

Bilbo laughed.  “I am sure I would never do anything so ridiculous.”

 

***

 

Several weeks later, Bilbo had his chance at Thorin again.  He and Ori were closeted away in Balin’s study: Bilbo at work on his manuscript, Ori answering Balin’s correspondence.  The door slammed open and Thorin stormed inside followed by a serious Balin.  Bilbo and Ori gathered their things and fled as quickly as they could.  After an hour or two, Ori had finished what he could and went home.  Bilbo remained at the dining table, absorbed in his notes.  He did not hear Thorin approach until he stood before him, looking amused.

 

“Balin tells me you write a book on Azanulbizar,” he said.

 

Bilbo dropped the quill he had been chewing on.  “Ye-es,” he squeaked.

 

“It is an unusual topic for a Hobbit,” Thorin said.

 

“Yes, I suppose,” Bilbo quailed.  But he would not fail this time; he must ask!  He gathered his courage. “I would like to interview you,” he said, “about that day.”

 

Thorin seemed surprised.  “Why would you?” he asked.

 

“I have interviewed many of the veterans,” Bilbo answered.  “Though it is true that yours is not simply another veteran’s perspective.”

 

Thorin sat, and looked at Bilbo’s notes spread across the table.  “This is serious study you do,” he said.  He seemed intrigued.

 

“Of course!” Bilbo said.  “It is the primary battle of recent Dwarven history, barring the coming of Smaug to Erebor!  It is the battle that ended the War between the Dwarves and the Orcs!  It is the battle–“ but here he stopped.  Thorin was laughing.

 

“No, no,” Thorin smiled at him.  “I do not laugh at you.  I am simply– well.  I am pleased to see your interest in our history.”

 

“It is the most interesting history in all of the ages of Middle Earth,” Bilbo declared, blushing.  Thorin Oakenshield, smiling at him!

 

And then Thorin reached out and took his hand, caressing it gently.

 

“I would be very happy to grant you an interview,” he said.  “I hope you might honour me with your presence at dinner before.”

 

Bilbo felt hot.  Did he–?  He shyly met Thorin’s eyes.  Oh, heavens!  He would faint.

 

“I… The honour would be mine, your majesty,” he replied.  Thorin’s thumb caressed his fingers again, and he brought Bilbo’s hand to his lips.

 

“You must call me Thorin,” he said.

 

Bilbo felt a smile grow on his face.  “Thorin,” he repeated.

 

Before Thorin must go, they set a date for two days following.  Bilbo tried to go back to his notes; but they made no sense to him anymore, his thoughts were so scattered.  Thorin Oakenshield.  He would dine in two days with Thorin Oakenshield.  He gathered up his papers and put them away in a daze (the next day he would discover to his disgust that he had entirely ruined the organisation of his notes) and then he went to lie down on his bed and stare at the ceiling and hold his hand to his mouth, that his lips might touch the place that Thorin’s had touched.

 

Dinner with Thorin was a very private affair, though they dined in the royal apartments.  They were attended by a single servant, who slipped away when no longer needed.  Bilbo barely noticed the servant; Thorin took all his attention.  He wore blue, and Bilbo knew it was because it was Durin blue; but it matched his eyes perfectly; and though Thorin was never gay, he was not sombre this night, but perfectly attentive.  Bilbo had never been wooed, but he thought he could not have imagined … Thorin was his ideal.  He was simply his ideal.

 

When they retired after dinner to a small sitting room, Thorin sat next to him on the couch.  He idly caressed Bilbo’s hand with his own, his eyes on Bilbo’s face.

 

“I cannot seem to think of a single question,” Bilbo confessed.

 

“Good,” Thorin replied, and leant forward to kiss him gently.  He pulled back a bit and smiled to see the look on Bilbo’s face.  “Good,” he murmured, and he brought his mouth to Bilbo’s once more.

 

Later Thorin walked with Bilbo back to Balin’s home.

 

“I will not give up, if this was your plan,” Bilbo teased.  “You will find I am most persistent.  I will have my interview in the end.”

 

Thorin smiled and took his hand.  “I am at your service,” he said.  “Entirely at your service.”

 

And though that of course was an exaggeration, as Thorin was in fact a very busy Dwarf, Bilbo found that he did save some time for Bilbo whenever he could.  Often they ate dinner together in Thorin’s apartments, or walked through the city in the evenings.  Thorin was truly as romantic as he had seemed when Bilbo first met him; and he found many opportunities to touch Bilbo innocuously:  to hold his hand, to brush back his hair, to place a hand on his back as he guided him while they walked; so that Bilbo could hardly think he was so flustered at the end of their time together and couldn’t say what they had talked about.

 

Soon enough they no longer walked in the evening but remained in the privacy of Thorin’s apartments, and each time Bilbo was terribly aware of how often Thorin’s gaze was on him.  Still Thorin was a gentledwarf, caressing Bilbo in only the most respectful of ways.  Even when they kissed until Bilbo was breathless, Thorin’s hands did not stray from his back or his face; Bilbo was going mad with want.  After a month of this he realised that either he would have to speak or he would have to show Thorin what he wanted, for Thorin would never touch him further without an invitation.

 

That evening, when their kisses grew carnal and Thorin seemed about to pull back as he always did, Bilbo groaned and climbed onto Thorin’s lap.

 

“Thorin, you drive me mad,” he said.  “Please, let me touch you.”  He trailed his hand down Thorin’s chest.

 

Thorin seemed shocked, and he gasped; but his hips also bucked beneath Bilbo.

 

“I would not have you think I did not respect you,” he told Bilbo.  “My feelings go beyond mere lust.”

 

Bilbo laughed and lowered his head to suck at Thorin’s neck, so that Thorin threw back his head and began to lift his hips to press against Bilbo’s weight on him again.

 

“I believe I know that you respect me,” Bilbo said when he lifted his head again.  “I should like to see if your ‘mere lust’ matches mine.”  He reached between them to tease at Thorin’s cock through the fabric of his trousers, and Thorin moaned as his hips thrust again.  Emboldened, Bilbo slid down between Thorin’s legs and mouthed at the place his hand had just been.

 

“Ah,” Thorin panted, “you will undo me.”

 

Bilbo looked up at him and reached for Thorin’s laces.

 

“I certainly hope so,” he teased, his smile wicked and wanton, “as I hope you will undo me as well.  I have wanted this for a very long time.”  And then Thorin’s cock was exposed before him, and he gently lowered his mouth to it.  Thorin spoke a word in Khuzdul and Bilbo wished that he understood what Thorin had said, but he knew Thorin would never tell him; and then he set scholarship aside.  Thorin seemed to want him as he wanted Thorin, and he was not foolish enough to let his chance slip away.  He had better things to do at this moment.

 

And it seemed that he had broken through all barriers that Thorin had set between them, for in the days following Thorin was insatiable, and Bilbo was very happy indeed to indulge him.

 

***

 

Bilbo truly did intend to interview Thorin about Azanulbizar, but he had not managed it yet.  They were too new as lovers.  One afternoon Ori discovered them quite _in flagrante_ when he entered Balin’s study unexpectedly.  Ori blushed red and fled.  Bilbo hid his face, but Thorin laughed; and Bilbo was glad to hear it.  Thorin did not laugh often.

 

“The _king_ ,” Ori accused Bilbo when next he saw him.  Bilbo giggled.

 

“The king,” he agreed.

 

That occurrence sparked another unexpected one: Thorin asked Bilbo to move into his apartments.

 

“I am lonely, and it is very quiet here without you,” Thorin told him one evening as they lay together.  His hand stroked Bilbo’s side so lightly.

 

“Your library does not really compare to Balin’s,” Bilbo told him.  Thorin’s fingers curled in just enough to make Bilbo squeal and try to squirm away.  “Stop; stop!” he cried.  “I will think on it.”

 

“Do,” Thorin said, his voice low.  “And think on this as well.”  His hand moved lower to take Bilbo in hand.  “Think of me, doing this to you–“ Bilbo moaned.  “– pulling those sounds from you, touching you so, all night long.”

 

Bilbo could not reply, only roll and swell like the sea beneath Thorin’s hand; but in the time after, when Thorin held him close, his heart answered.   _Yes.  Anything.  Yes._

 

Balin did not seem surprised when Bilbo told him that he would go to live in Thorin’s apartments, though he did seem concerned.

 

“I’m not young anymore,” he said, “but it seems fast to me, laddie.  Are you sure?”

 

“I am,” Bilbo said.  “I would do anything he asked of me.”

 

Balin nodded.  “Yes,” he said.  “But I believe the same is true for him as well.”  He bowed.  “Should you ever have need, my home is yours, Bilbo Baggins.”

 

Thorin had converted what had been the guest room – “For you won’t be needing the bed,” he growled – to a small library and study for Bilbo.  Bilbo did still go to Balin’s for luncheon some days, and sometimes stay of an afternoon to visit, and to see Ori (who blushed for some time after whenever he did see Bilbo); but he spent most of his time writing in that small study.  At times he would look up from his manuscript to find Thorin watching him, a small smile on his face.  Usually those times meant the end of his writing session for the day; for once he smiled back at Thorin, Thorin pounced, and he usually found himself being carried to their bedroom.

 

After one of these sessions, he scolded Thorin.  “I get nothing done!” he exclaimed.  “Do you not have to go be kingly?  I will never finish my book!”

 

Thorin nuzzled his ear.  “I am content that it be so,” he told him, “for then you would not return to the Shire, but would remain by my side.”

 

Bilbo stilled.  “You would?” he asked hesitantly.

 

Thorin lifted his head to look Bilbo in the face.  “I wish it were so,” he said, his face serious.

 

Bilbo took Thorin’s face in his hands.  “I wish it too,” he whispered.

 

Thorin rolled and took Bilbo with him, so that Bilbo ended beneath his body.

 

“Stay, then,” he said, as he kissed, and kissed, and kissed Bilbo.  “Stay.”

 

Bilbo nodded against his mouth.  “I will,” he said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> edited, June 3 2013 and again, October 17 2013. Hopefully I have finally fixed the formatting and other errors. *growls*


	6. Staying in Belegost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo and Thorin begin their life together.

 

But it was easier to say yes to Thorin than to tell his mother of his decision.  She had written to say that she loved him and forgave him, but also that she missed him very much and looked forward to his return.  Bilbo had known that he might be gone a year, or more, even, while he researched for his book in Belegost; but to stay?  He could not deny Thorin, but he dreaded writing to his mother and for some time he procrastinated.  He would not admit it to Thorin for fear of making him feel guilty, but one day he confided in Nori.

 

“I do not know how to tell her that I will not return,” he said.  “Of course I may visit, but I will not be able to go often.  It is so far to the Shire from here.”

 

Nori was quiet for a while.  “It is hard to be separated from your family, and worse to be estranged,” he finally said.

 

Bilbo agreed.  “I should not like to know that she did not forgive me, even if I did not see her.”

 

“No,” Nori said.  “It is very hard.”  They were quiet for a moment as Bilbo watched Nori.  The usually confident dwarf seemed resigned, as if to an old hurt.

 

“You speak from experience,” Bilbo said.

 

Nori nodded.  “I do.  Neither my mother nor my older brother acknowledge me anymore.”

 

Bilbo did not know what to say.  “That does seem very hard,” he tried.

 

Nori nodded again.  “You see why I value Ori so,” he said, “for he goes against our mother’s stricture when he sees me.”

 

Bilbo patted Nori’s hand.  “He truly loves you,” he told him, and Nori smiled; but it was still a sad smile.

 

When Bilbo returned to Thorin’s apartments after his luncheon with Nori, he wrote his letter, Nori’s sad smile in his mind’s eye.

 

 

_Dear Mama,_

 

_I hope that this letter finds you well, and that you enjoy the beginnings of spring in the Shire.  Here at the mountain it is colder, and I think spring is still a bit away.  But inside the mountain there are no seasons, and sometimes it is easy to forget that they turn.  I do miss the Shire when I think of daffodils and new green everywhere, and of course I miss you most of all._

 

_I am very well, and much has changed with me since my last letter.  I have met the king here in Belegost, Thorin Oakenshield.  He is a great hero, and a good king, and … Mama, I love him.  He has asked me to stay here with him and I cannot say no.  I love him too well, though it has been but a short time._

 

_My great regret, of course, is that I shall not see you.  But I promise you many visits, and long ones; in fact I hope I may come next summer when warmer weather will make travel more feasible, and I will try to have my book finished then as well.  I truly should not like to camp in the weather we have now; there are many rainstorms, and as I said before, it remains quite chilly._

 

_I hope you can forgive me this._

 

_Your son,_

_Bilbo_

 

 

Afterward Bilbo sent his letter quickly so he could not change his mind from his fear; but he fretted over what Mama would think and what her reply would be, even as he knew it would be some time before he heard from her.  Mail from the Shire to the mountain did not move quickly, nor the other way round.  Thorin’s attempt to comfort him made him feel rather more sorry for Thorin instead of himself.

 

“I know what it is to live without a mother,” he said.  “Mine was lost at Erebor when I was quite young, and I miss her still.”  Bilbo held him close.

 

“You have had so much pain in your life,” he said.  “I wish I could take it away.”

 

Thorin smiled at him.  “You do,” he told him.  “You do.”  Thorin paused.  “My sister yet lives, and her sons.”

 

Bilbo smiled eagerly.  “When may I meet them?” he asked.  Thorin laughed and held him close.

 

“Soon,” he said.  “Tomorrow, or the day after, if you like.”

 

“Tomorrow,” Bilbo said decisively.

 

And the next day it was.  Dís had Thorin’s regal air and dark looks, though her temperament was lighter; and she seemed to laugh more easily.  She said she was very happy to meet Bilbo at last.

 

“You are all he speaks of,” she told him, “and you have made him smile, which he does far too seldom.  I am very glad he has met you, and to meet you myself.”

 

Her sons were high-spirited and mischievous, far more rambunctious than Ori.  Bilbo reflected that fifty years must make much difference.  Fíli was sixty-eight, and Kíli sixty-three to Ori’s one hundred ten.  (Bilbo had teased him about going to the Shire for an eleventy eleventh birthday party.)  But Bilbo thought that Fíli and Kíli’s lives had been carefree in a way that Ori’s had not.  Were they the same age, he suspected they would still seem younger.  Bilbo liked them, but he did not share much in common with them.

 

In Dís, however, he found a kindred spirit.  She loved Thorin as well, and was happy to tell Bilbo stories of her eldest brother’s youth.  Bilbo saw in those stories what Thorin might have been had so much responsibility not come to him when he was yet so young; and he thought Thorin might have had more in common with Fíli and Kíli’s youthful spirits then he did, should things have fallen differently at Azanulbizar.  Bilbo ached to think of a Thorin who laughed as easily as Fili and Kili, though he loved Thorin as he was.

 

And though Bilbo loved him, all was not easy with Thorin; Bilbo had seen evidence of his temper before, but now he lived with him, he saw it more often.  Usually it was directed elsewhere:  at his council, or at Belegost’s Lord.  Not too many months had passed, however, before Bilbo was the cause of his wrath.

 

It happened thus:  Bilbo was in his study in the morning, as usual, and Thorin was gone; and Bilbo took out the copy of _Uhrad Khazad-dûmu_ he had pilfered from Balin’s library when he first arrived.  He was engrossed in it and did not notice Thorin enter his study at first, until he sat by his side.  When Bilbo looked up from the pages, he immediately felt guilty.  He felt his face flush.

 

“What do you read?” Thorin asked.

 

Bilbo bit his lip.  “It is a book I borrowed from Balin,” he replied.

 

Thorin held out his hand for it.  Bilbo handed the book over reluctantly.

 

“ _Uhrad Khazad-dûmu_ ,” he read aloud.  He looked at Bilbo, his face astonished, and something else Bilbo could not read.  “Bilbo,” he said.  “This is Khuzdul.”

 

Bilbo nodded.  He began to see what he had not before; Thorin grew angry.

 

“Who has taught you this?” he demanded.  “This is a secret kept close; only our people can know it!”

 

Bilbo quailed a bit, but he would not allow it to show.  “I taught myself,” he said.  “I had two books–“

 

But Thorin interrupted him.  “You.  You taught yourself.”

 

“I did,” Bilbo said.  He would not incriminate Nori; and truly, Nori had only helped him after he had already learned it.  “It was not easy.”

 

Thorin stood then and began to pace.

 

“You must have known,” he exclaimed.  “You, who have learnt so much of our people; you must have known it was forbidden!”

 

Bilbo began to grow angry as well.

 

“I knew it was forbidden that any Dwarf teach me,” he admitted, “but I learnt it myself, from books!  I do not see how that _can_ be forbidden.”

 

Thorin sneered.  “You speak sophistry,” he said.  And now Bilbo _was_ angry.

 

“I do not!” he cried.  “And I do not see why Dwarves should hoard their language so!  Anyone _should_ be able to learn it.”

 

Thorin shook his head.  “I cannot speak to you,” he ground out.  “I cannot speak to you right now.”

And he quickly left the room, and Bilbo heard the door to their apartments slam behind him a moment later.  Bilbo sighed.   _That could have gone better,_ he thought.  It was only then that he realised Thorin still had Balin’s copy of _Uhrad Khazad-dûmu.  Bother_ , he thought.

 

Thorin did not return until late in the evening.  Bilbo had sat waiting for him for a long time before he ate dinner, and then long again before he would go to bed.  But he could not hold off sleep forever, and eventually he dozed on the couch.  He woke to the sound of the door closing, but Thorin didn’t speak to him.  Instead he went straight to their bedroom and shut the door behind him.  Bilbo did not know what to do about that.  He lay back down and cried softly until finally sleep came again, and when he woke in the morning Thorin was gone again.

 

It was then that Bilbo realised how impetuous he had been to fall in with Thorin so quickly.  He loved him, but perhaps he didn’t know him very well.  He did not know what he would do if Thorin told him to leave.  He did not know if he could go back to Balin, Thorin’s close friend and advisor.  He did not even know if he could finish his book.  Would Thorin make him leave Belegost?   _Could_ Thorin make him leave Belegost?

 

But mid-morning, shortly before elevenses, Balin came to him.

 

“I am told you borrowed a book,” he said.  Bilbo blushed.

 

“I am sorry,” he said.  “It was very wrong of me not to ask first.”  Balin’s face was inscrutable.

 

“But not to learn the Khuzdul necessary to read it in the first place?” he asked.  Bilbo’s chin rose.

 

“I cannot think it wrong,” he said.  “Knowledge is for learning.”  He bit his lip.  “ _The hunter for perfect knowledge travels to faraway places._  That is what I have done.”

 

Balin huffed.  “It seems you have indeed learned it, and not badly.”  He stood.

 

“Can you forgive me?” Bilbo asked.  “I am truly sorry to have abused your trust.”

 

“I don’t think I can mind you having borrowed the book,” Balin said, “as I would have lent you any written in Westron without pause.  But the other … It will take a while to get used to the idea of a Hobbit who speaks Khuzdul.”

 

Bilbo hastily shook his head.  “I can’t speak it,” he admitted, “or understand it when I hear it.  I only know it to read it.”

 

“Hmm,” was all that Balin said, and then he left.

 

Bilbo could not write that day; and he feared to leave the apartments and miss Thorin’s return, though he didn’t know what would happen when Thorin did return.  But Thorin did not return until late again, if at all.  Bilbo thought perhaps he heard the door in the morning, and that Thorin had slept on the couch, as Bilbo had the previous night.   _This is ridiculous_ , Bilbo thought.  _We cannot live so_.  When Thorin again did not return for dinner, Bilbo had had enough.  He dragged the couch in front of the hall to the bedroom so that Thorin could not retreat there without waking him.  He would sleep there, and he would confront Thorin when he returned.  If they could not talk about it, this would not work.  Bilbo did not know where he would go, but he would not live like this.

 

He woke to the sound of the apartment door closing, but he did not hear Thorin move from the doorway.  He sat up.  Thorin stood by the door.  He did not cross the room.

 

“You return,” Bilbo said.

 

“I still do not think I can talk to you about this,” Thorin told him.  “I am too angry.”

 

Bilbo crossed his arms.  “We talk or we do not work,” he said.  Thorin threw up his hands.

 

“I have said I cannot!” he exclaimed.  “We speak at cross-purposes, and you do not understand what you have done!”

 

“Maybe I don’t,” Bilbo said.  “But it was something I did before we ever met.”

 

“You are not the Hobbit I thought you were,” Thorin said.  Bilbo stilled.

 

“What kind of Hobbit am I, then?” he asked.  Thorin seemed to sense that the argument had changed.  He looked wary, and he did not answer.  Bilbo repeated the question.

 

“What kind of a Hobbit am I, Thorin?” he demanded.

 

Thorin threw his hands into the air.

 

“You are a liar,” he stated angrily.  “You are a liar, and I do not know if I can trust you.”

 

Bilbo held himself still with great effort.  He would not cry.  “I see,” he said.  He stood up and pulled the couch back to where it belonged.  “I will no longer keep you from your bed.  Good night.”  He lay down and turned his back to Thorin.  As he heard Thorin go into the bedroom, his tears did begin to fall.

 

The next day he packed his things.  Perhaps he could not go to Balin, but Nori would not turn him away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> edited October 17 2013.


	7. Bending

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The fight's fallout.

 

Nori was not home when Bilbo arrived at his door, so Bilbo ignored the curious looks and sat in front of his home until he arrived.  He did seem quite startled to see Bilbo there.

 

“I am sorry to come with no notice,” Bilbo told him.  “I need a place to stay.”

 

“What happened to Balin’s?” Nori asked as he opened the door.

 

“I have not lived there for some months,” Bilbo replied.  “I had thought I had fallen in love, and he with me; but he says he does not know me or trust me.  I won’t stay.”  To his shame, Bilbo’s tears began to fall again, but Nori only put his arm around his shoulder and ushered him inside.

 

“I am glad to have you,” he said.  “You know my house is yours.”

 

Bilbo was grateful to Nori, but he was still too distracted to write.  His wound was too painful and too new.  He spent the days wrapped in a blanket and staring blankly at the walls.  He could see Nori was worried, but he could not offer him more than a wan smile.  He knew he would heal, though he would never be the same.  He thought he had given a piece of himself to Thorin that he would never get back.

 

After a week had passed, Ori came.

 

“This is where you have been?” he hissed.  “This whole time?  Do you not know the whole city is in an uproar to find you?”  Bilbo looked to Nori, startled.  He had not known it.

 

“You have been lost in your thoughts,” Nori said, “and I didn’t think you needed to worry about it.”

 

Ori sighed.  “Thorin came to Balin the first night, a week ago, to see you there,” he said.  “When he learnt you were not … he sent out the guard to search for you.  Every day you have not been found it grows worse.  Balin says Dwalin is hardly ever at home, only to sleep and eat a quick meal and go out to search again; and he thinks the king is no better.”  He shook his head.  “You didn’t think it through, Nori.  How can you hide one Hobbit in a mountain of Dwarves?”

 

Nori’s face took on his sly look.  “If anyone can, I can; though I didn’t know at first that his lover was the king,” he said.  His face turned stubborn.  “Besides, he wasn’t ready.”  He paused.  “Look at him, Ori; he still isn’t.”

 

Bilbo frowned.  “You know I am here,” he said.  He sighed.  “And this is too ridiculous.  Ori, I will write you a note, and you will take it back to Balin’s.”

 

Ori shook his head.  “They’ll have it out of me,” he said.  “I don’t think I can keep a secret well enough.”

 

“It will be fine,” Bilbo said.  He wrote his note and handed it to Ori, then shooed him out the door, turning to Nori.

 

“Thank you for taking me in,” he said.  “I will leave my things; I do not know if I will stay; but clearly I must speak to him.”  He took a deep breath, and let it out again.  “First, though, I think I will bathe.”

 

Nori laughed.  “I didn’t like to say anything,” he told Bilbo.  “But I think that’s for the best.”

 

So it was about an hour before Bilbo went back to Thorin’s apartment.  No one was there; but he had only just sent Ori with the note.  Bilbo didn’t know how long he would have to wait, so he had brought a book to read, one in Westron that he had borrowed from the library; and he was rather astonished that he was calm enough to read it.  As it was several hours more before Thorin returned, Bilbo was glad of it; he should have fretted himself into a state anticipating their conversation with nothing to distract him.

 

Thorin entered, and shut the door, and stared at Bilbo for a moment before he crossed the room and knelt with his head in Bilbo’s lap.

 

“Bilbo,” he said. “Bilbo. I think you will drive me mad.”

 

Bilbo put a shaking hand to Thorin’s face.  He was crying.  Thorin, crying!  He lifted Thorin’s chin and wiped the tears away, though still they came.

 

“Thorin,” he said.  “You must not.  You must not.  Oh, my Thorin.  Do not cry.”

 

“I did not know,” Thorin told him.  “I knew I loved you.  I did not know how it would hurt.”  He laid his head in Bilbo’s lap again, and clasped him tight.  “Please, Bilbo.  Do not leave me again.”

 

Bilbo stroked his hair.  “Oh, Thorin.  I love you too, but it does not fix what is wrong between us,” he said, his voice mournful.

 

Thorin looked up then.  “I don’t know what is wrong.  I only thought you left because of my anger,” he said.

 

Bilbo had never felt such consternation.

 

“How can you not know?” he asked. “Thorin, you called me a liar and said you didn’t trust me, and then you would not speak to me.”

 

“I was angry,” Thorin said.

 

“I think you meant it,” Bilbo told him.

 

“When I thought you gone, none of it mattered,” Thorin said.  He closed his eyes and leaned into Bilbo.  “I thought terrible things, Bilbo.  It is not a good time to traverse the mountain, in the spring storms.  It floods, and sometimes suddenly.”

 

Oh, Thorin.  Bilbo embraced him.

 

“I didn’t leave the mountain,” Bilbo said.  “I was with a friend.”

 

“I thought I knew everyone you know,” Thorin told him.  “It was when you were not at Balin’s…”  He shook in Bilbo’s arms.

 

“I have friends you have not met,” Bilbo said.  “I have not spent every moment in the library.  But it doesn’t matter where I went.”  Bilbo felt tears begin to roll down his cheeks as well.  “What matters is that this is no way to fight.  I can’t live with you ignoring me, and staying away from me.”

 

“I was so furious,” Thorin replied.  “I am still angry about it if I think on it too long, but it was nothing to the pain and worry when you were gone.  I can be given to such rages, and I...I only thought it was not good to confront you when I felt so.”

 

They sat in silence for a while.  Bilbo thought little was resolved between them, but his heart ached for Thorin.  He would not find it easy to walk away again.   _This is not always an easy love,_ he thought.  He kissed Thorin’s forehead, and then his eyes, and then the tears that lingered on his cheeks.

 

“It will break us if you cannot trust me,” he told him.  “I know it to my soul.  Though I love you so much, still it will break us in the end.”

 

Thorin lowered his head to Bilbo’s shoulder and tightened his arms.  “You undo me,” he said.  “I trust you with my heart, Bilbo.  The Khuzdul, I cannot imagine trusting to any but a Dwarf.  It is a part of what _makes_ us Dwarf.  But I will try.”

 

“I know it is sacred to your people,” Bilbo said.  “You must know I would never abuse that.”

 

“It is done anyway,” Thorin said.  “I could not have taught you, or seen another do it; but you know it now.  I only ask that you use it carefully.”

 

“Always,” Bilbo told him.  “I always will.”

 

Thorin smiled at him then.  “I do know it,” he said.  “And Balin tells me you do not understand it when you hear it.”

 

Bilbo pouted a little.  “I don’t,” he said.

 

“So when I tell you _Abushâgizu kurdûh, sanghivasha, sanâzyung; zidenizu melhekhul ruk âzyunguh ra kurdûh_ you do not understand me.”

 

Now Bilbo frowned at Thorin; but he laughed, and surged forward, and caught Bilbo in his arms.

 

“ _Sanghivasha,_ ” he murmured as he carried Bilbo to their bedroom.  “ _Sanhôfuk_.”  Bilbo gave himself over entirely to the sounds of his lover’s voice, speaking he knew not what; but in a tone so sweet he could only hear in it ‘ _my love; my love.’_

 

In the morning Bilbo went to retrieve his things from Nori’s.

 

“You’re sure this is for the best?” Nori asked him.  “You know you can always come back.”

 

“I’m sure,” Bilbo reassured him.  “All is not perfect, but I think we know each other a bit better.  And I hope it will be better, when next we fight.”

 

Nori frowned.  “I’m not sure it’s better if you expect to fight again.”  Bilbo smiled at him.

 

“Of course we will fight,” he said.  “Those who never fight can’t be honest with each other.”

 

“I think Hobbits may be different than Dwarves in that way,” Nori told him.  “A fight is a serious thing to a Dwarf.”

 

“But I am a Hobbit, and Thorin is a Dwarf,” Bilbo said, “so perhaps we will have to bend a bit, each of us in our way.”

 

And he returned to Thorin’s apartments, but the thought remained in the back of his mind.   _I wonder how I shall have to bend_.

 

Thorin and Bilbo’s relationship did change after their fight, but Bilbo thought it was better, not worse.  Thorin seemed determined to be accepting of Bilbo in all aspects; and in return, Bilbo attempted to be as open with Thorin as he could.  Thorin shared more of his life with Bilbo as well; so that Bilbo learned of the politics, both serious and petty, that demanded Thorin’s attention.  Bilbo thought that Thorin had never had a confidant until now. Advisors, yes; but never someone who might simply listen and support him.  He must always be king.  Only with Bilbo, and perhaps sometimes with Dis, could he be simply Thorin.

 

They had come together in a rush of romance and then passion; but now they carefully cultivated their understanding of each other, and Bilbo thought his love grew with each day.

 

One thing did worry at him, however.  He and Thorin had not yet spoken of that fateful day at Azanulbizar.  He thought it had not been deliberate; they had both been overcome.  But each day that passed Bilbo thought made it harder, and his book loomed over it all in his mind.  It would have been better to interview Thorin first, before they became lovers.  Now that coloured everything; and Bilbo knew he was not objective when it came to Thorin, nor would he want Thorin to feel betrayed by what he might write.  He was not sure he would be able to include any of Thorin’s words in his book.  It was a loss, to be sure; but Bilbo would not give up what he had gained instead.  He did want to know, however; as he wanted to know all of what was important to Thorin.  Finally he could not fret over it any longer.  That night at dinner, he spoke.

 

“I will not interview you for my book,” he announced.  Thorin’s eyebrows rose.  “I can’t … I have lost any hope of a proper historian’s perspective with you.”  He looked hopefully at Thorin.  “But I hope you will tell me anyway, of Azanulbizar.  I would like to hear of that day from you.  It has shaped all you have become since.”

 

Thorin seemed to ponder for a while.  “I admit I had forgotten,” he said.  “I am sorry if it will hurt your work.”

 

Bilbo shook his head.  “I will not let it,” he said.  “I am determined it shall not.  I seek to know only for my own sake, that I may know you better.”

 

Thorin lifted Bilbo’s hand to his lips.  “I think you know me well, _sanghivasha_.”

 

Bilbo reached with his other hand to caress Thorin’s.  “I understand if you cannot, beloved.  I can wait.  And if you never tell me, I will still love you.”

 

Thorin exhaled.  His eyes went distant and he was quiet for a time.

 

“It was cold,” he said.  “That is what I remember most.  It was cold; and then it was too hot, as the funeral pyres burned.”  He huffed again, and when he spoke, his voice was hoarse.  “Too many died that day: too many to count, too many to send to the stone.  That is what I remember.”  Bilbo held Thorin’s hand, and listened.  Thorin clasped both Bilbo’s hands tight.

 

“More would have died without you,” Bilbo told him.  “Without you to rally your people, the Orcs would have held the day.”

 

Thorin shook his head.  “Dwarven warriors are brave and strong,” he said.  “They would have fought on.  But the cost was high.”

 

“If I say you are a hero, you will let me,” Bilbo chided.  “You were.  You are.”

 

“You were not there,” Thorin said.  “If I was a hero, I was one of many.”

 

“There may have been many heroes,” Bilbo allowed.  “But you were the greatest.”

 

Thorin smiled at him.  “You are incorrigible,” he said, and he leaned forward to kiss Bilbo on the nose.  “Incorrigible.”

 

“Perhaps I am,” Bilbo said.  “You see why this cannot be in my book.”  He tilted his head a bit, and lifted his face that his mouth met Thorin’s.  For some moments, they only kissed softly; but then Bilbo continued.

 

“But it was a terrible day,” he said.

 

Thorin nodded, his forehead moving gently on Bilbo’s.  “A terrible day.”

 

In the months that followed, Bilbo’s book came on apace, and Bilbo and Thorin grew comfortable and relaxed together.  Their love was not so new, and time had given them more confidence in each other. In the evenings they would often sit together and read; Thorin even gritted his teeth and said nothing when the book Bilbo chose was written in Khuzdul.  He accepted, even if he could not quite bring himself to approve.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Abushâgzu kurdmen, sanghivasha, sanâzyung; zidenzu melhekhul âzyungmen, kurdmen: You conquer my heart, perfect treasure, perfect love; you rule as king over my love and my heart.
> 
> Sanhôfuk: perfect joy
> 
>  
> 
> edited October 17 2013. stupid semi-colons.


	8. To the Breaking Point

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo and Thorin fight again, with serious consequences.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will be traveling today and again in a few days time (going on vacation!), so I apologize in advance if my posting schedule becomes erratic. I will do my best not to keep you waiting too long!

 

A year passed, and Bilbo was near the completion of his book when he came home from a visit with Ori to find Thorin sitting in his study reading his manuscript.

 

“That’s not finished,” Bilbo complained lightly, and Thorin looked up.  His face was a blank mask, but Bilbo recognized it.  Thorin was angry.

 

“You said you wrote of Azanulbizar,” he said.

 

“I do,” Bilbo replied.  “How can you ask that?  Are you sure you are reading my book?”

 

“I thought you wrote of the events of that day,” Thorin continued.  “I thought you wrote of our heroes.”

 

Now Bilbo began to grow angry.  “I do,” he said.  “Just tell me, Thorin: what do you not like about my book?”

 

Thorin clenched his jaw.  “You do not understand Dwarves,” he said.

 

Bilbo exhaled.  “Go on,” he said.  “I don’t understand your people.  What else?”

 

“It was a great victory,” Thorin exclaimed.  He stood and paced.  Thorin could never be still when he was angry.

 

“Ah,” Bilbo said.

 

“You make it sound… I do not know!”  Thorin slapped the manuscript with his hand.  “You do not understand it!”

 

“It was a Dwarven victory,” Bilbo said.  Thorin nodded sharply.

 

“It was a pyrrhic victory,” Bilbo went on.  “It was a colossal error.”

 

Thorin threw his manuscript across the room.

 

“Do not!” Bilbo cried.

 

“You lie!” Thorin yelled.  “You are a liar, Hobbit!”

 

“You were a hero, and there were many others,” Bilbo shouted.  “But your grandfather was a fool to bring you to that day at all!”

 

Thorin threw up his hands.  “I cannot,” he ground out.  “I cannot talk about this with you!”  He moved to leave the study, but Bilbo blocked his way to the door.

 

“You will not leave like this,” Bilbo vowed.  “We are not done.”

 

Thorin shook his head.  “I cannot do this!” he growled.  “I do not know what I will do if you keep me here!”

 

“I am sorry if it hurts you, Thorin,” Bilbo said more softly. 

 

Thorin met Bilbo’s eyes then, and his eyes blazed hot.  “If you were sorry, you would not have written it,” he asserted.  “You must have known how it would be.”

 

“I knew you might not like it,” Bilbo agreed.  “But I must write it the way I understand it.  If I didn’t, then I _would_ be lying.”

 

If anything, that seemed to infuriate Thorin further.  “Why did you not leave it, then?  Why must you write this slander at all?”

 

Bilbo could not believe it.  “Leave it?” he cried.  “It is my life’s work!  And it is not slander; it is the truth of that day as I understand it!”

 

Thorin scoffed.  “Then you do not understand anything,” he stated, and he pushed past Bilbo to leave the study.  “It will not be published while I am king in Belegost.”

 

“You great bully,” Bilbo shouted.  “You do not have the right!  It is history, not a fairytale!”

 

Thorin did not reply, only went to their bedroom and shut the door.

 

After a moment, Bilbo turned and shut the study door as well.  He looked at the mess of his manuscript on the floor, and his eyes filled with tears as he leaned back against the door.   _So_ , he thought.   _It ends this way_.  He slid down to the floor and began to sob.

 

He did not know how much later it was when his tears were done, but after a time he could cry no more.  He crawled over to pick up the wreck of his manuscript, and slowly he brought it back to order.  He sat with it on his lap, where Thorin had sat, where it had broken them apart.  He did not leave his study for dinner, or to go to bed, but slept there that night.  In the morning things seemed no better.  Thorin was gone, and did not return that night.  Bilbo took his bag and began to pack.

 

 

_My beloved Thorin,_

_I would not ever hurt you if I could, but I will not lie and I will not be kept quiet.  I am sorry to see it end this way.  I do not think I will ever love again like this._

_Always yours,_

_Bilbo_

 

***

 

Nori sighed to see Bilbo at his door.  “Again?” he said.  “Tempestuous, the two of you are.”

 

“There is no ‘two of us,’” Bilbo said.  “There is only he, and I.”  As Nori moved aside he entered the apartments.  “And I am afraid I ask you for a larger favour this time.  I must ask you to send for Ori, and I must ask if you will accompany me back to the Grey Havens.”

 

Nori sucked in a breath.  “What has he done?” he asked.  “What have _you_ done?”

 

“Only send for Ori first, please,” Bilbo requested.  “I do not know how much time I have.”

 

Nori shook his head, but he left to seek out Ori himself.  They returned perhaps an hour later; Bilbo was ready with his manuscript on the table in front of him.

 

“I must ask that you will see this published for me,” he told Ori, “and Balin must not know until it is done, lest he tell Thorin.  If Thorin knows, he will stop you.”

 

Ori’s eyes were wide.  He hesitantly reached his hand out to touch Bilbo’s manuscript.  “What is it?” he asked.

 

Bilbo showed him the title:   _Enukhush Azanulbizaru_. “ _The Catastrophe of Azanulbizar_ ,” he said.  “And I want it in Khuzdul and Westron both.”

 

“You do not want to translate it yourself?” Ori asked.

 

“I will begin if I can, but first I must finish it,” Bilbo replied.  “And I will leave as soon as Nori is ready.”

 

“But you will be back,” Ori said pleadingly.

 

“No,” Bilbo told him.  “I won’t.”  He turned to Nori.  “When can you be ready?” he asked.

 

Nori pursed his lips.  “I’ll try for two days,” he said.  “It may take three.”

 

“I will be ready,” Bilbo said.

 

Ori hugged him and left, but he promised to be back before they left.  Bilbo and Nori looked at each other.

 

“Take three days,” Bilbo said.  “I will need them.” 

 

Nori nodded.  “Still, I must hurry,” he said.  “I will leave you to it.”  He hesitated.  “I don’t like to see you go.  Are you sure…”

 

“This is not like the last time,” Bilbo said.  “He asks me to deny who I am.”  He laughed bitterly.  “Last time he just called me a liar who could not be trusted.”

 

Bilbo wrote furiously to finish his manuscript in three days, but finish he did.  He even managed to begin a translation of what he judged to be the most crucial chapter, but he must leave the rest in Ori’s hands.

 

“It’s a bit early in the year to be leaving,” Nori warned him on the final day.  “It will be a bitter journey.”

 

“It would be a bitter journey for me if we left at the height of summer,” Bilbo replied.  “I only worry for you on the return.”

 

Nori shook his head.  “I will spend the rest of the winter in the Grey Havens and return with the spring caravans,” he said.  “I am not crazy enough to attempt it alone at this time of year.”

 

Bilbo sighed.  “I am sorry, Nori; I ask much of you.”

 

“To Erebor to see Smaug, remember,” Nori reminded him.  “Winter in the Grey Havens is only the smallest service.”

 

Ori embraced him and promised to pass on a note to Balin once a week had passed.

 

“I begin to make a habit of it,” Bilbo said.  “I will not know how to make a trip without sneaking away.”

 

He and Nori left early on the morning of the fourth day since Bilbo had left Thorin.  They paused to see Dwalin waiting at the gate, so that no one could enter or exit without his knowledge.  Nori pulled Bilbo back into the shadows.

 

“Neither of us can pass him,” he hissed.  “He will arrest me and he will take you straight to Thorin.”

 

Bilbo shook with frustration.  “What do we do?” he asked.  “Is there another way out of Belegost?”

 

“Not a safe way,” Nori whispered.

 

“But there is a way,” Bilbo said.

 

Reluctantly, Nori nodded.  “It will take another day to prepare,” he said.  “We could take the West Gate out through the ancient city, then take the Forlinduin down to the Gulf of Lune.”  He paused.  “It may actually be faster.  But we will need a boat.”

 

“Then may we go back before Dwalin sees us after all?” Bilbo asked, and they retreated.

 

“Have you ever been on a fast river before?” Nori asked.  “It will be wild, and is none too safe.”

 

“I have only ever boated on the Brandywine,” Bilbo replied.  “It is as still as a pond.”

 

Nori laughed.  “When you adventure, you don’t go halfway, do you, Bilbo Baggins?”

 

Bilbo huffed, and Nori laughed again.

 

Nori hurried away after they returned to his home, and Bilbo was left on his own.  He wondered bitterly if Dwalin was there to see that he did not leave or to ensure he did not take his manuscript with him when he went.  Nori had said nothing of a search in the city, and Bilbo had seen no signs himself either, though he had been out but little.  He might not have seen it, though it occurred.  But he thought it likely that Thorin did not want him back; he only wanted to see that he could not publish his book.  He was not sure Thorin would forgive him this.

 

It was a shock to him to realise that if Thorin had wanted him back then he would have gone, if it had not been for the manuscript between them.  He supposed tempestuous was the proper word for their failed love after all.  No matter how bitter the fight, he would have gone back; and it was only this that stopped him now: it was his life’s work, and Thorin would bury it so that no one might tarnish his dead grandfather’s reputation.  It was the entire reason he had come to Belegost, and now it was the reason he must go.

 

It was late when Nori returned and Bilbo already slept, but Nori woke him and told him to dress.

 

“We leave now,” he said.  “We will be through the gate and ready to leave at dawn.”

 

“You have not slept,” Bilbo said.

 

“No time,” Nori said.  “They will begin to search the city tomorrow.”

 

“Why did he wait these days and only begin to search now?” Bilbo asked.

 

“I have no answer,” Nori said, “but we must be through the West Gate by dawn.”  So Bilbo rose and dressed and took up his pack, and he and Nori went out into the darkened city.

 

Their road lay through districts that Bilbo had never seen before.  It was perhaps an hour and a half to the edge of the ancient city.  A foxy-faced Dwarf waited there for them with torches.

 

“The boat is there?” Nori asked.  The Dwarf nodded, and a bag of coins changed hands.  Nori and Bilbo took the torches and began to pick their way through the rubble of the ancient city.  Bilbo wished he had more light and more time as they fled.  He would have liked to explore the ruins, but instead they must rush by.  He bitterly regretted having to leave Belegost in this way, and he cursed Thorin – and himself – again.  If only Thorin had understood; if only Bilbo could have resisted Thorin in the beginning!  But there was no resisting Thorin.  Even now, though Bilbo knew his flaws, he was Bilbo’s ideal of a king, of a Dwarf.

 

It was several hours more until they reached the West Gate, and the sky had not yet lightened.  As promised, a boat was hidden by the gate, with two oars tucked inside.  It was made to seat two, one in front and one in the back, and it was long and thin.  Bilbo had never seen a boat like it before, though he admitted he was no expert.  Nori gestured him to pick up one side in the back, and he picked up the other side in the front, and begin to lead them down a slippery trail.  This trek was far more difficult than that up the mountain to the East Gate of Belegost had been.  The rocks shifted beneath his feet, and it was hard to balance.  Carrying the boat did not make it easier.  But the river began not too far from where they left the gate; it was perhaps an hour of this stumbling along until they were there.

 

Now Nori showed him how to tie down their packs in the boat, which he said was called a ‘canoe,’ and directed him to sit in the front.

 

“You must paddle steadily,” Nori told him.  “Stay on the same side until you tire; then you may switch.  Do not worry about the steering; I will steer.  You must only keep a deep, steady stroke.”  He took a deep breath.  “The worst will be here, nearest to the riverhead.  As the river nears the sea, it will broaden and slow.”

 

“Have you done this before, Nori?” Bilbo asked.

 

“Only twice,” he replied.  “And I was not the experienced paddler.”

 

Nori held the canoe close to the shore as Bilbo climbed in, then jumped in himself and pushed the canoe out into the rapid current of the river.  Bilbo paddled, but he felt he hardly made a difference when the water pushed their boat so swiftly down the river.  He hoped Nori’s eyes were better than his; he could hardly see in the predawn light.  He could not see Nori to know what he did; but the canoe moved smoothly in the current around the rocky obstacles in the river, though Bilbo was splashed by spray.  The water was very cold.  His arms began to ache quickly, and he switched sides, and then again, as Nori had directed him.  Finally the sky brightened enough that he might see, though the light was pale in the shadow of the mountain.

 

The river rushed on in a froth of white as it curved and twisted its way down the mountain slope.  The landscape was greener than the other side of the mountain range, he thought, the forest thicker.  At times the woods were so dense he could hardly see past the trees, but Bilbo did not ever have much time to look.  The river slowed at times, but never much: they flew down the mountain.  Bilbo realised he was laughing.

 

“Nori!” he cried.  “This is glorious!”

 

“What?” Nori called.

 

“GLORIOUS!” Bilbo yelled.  “It is glorious!”

 

“Ha!” Nori shouted back.  “I should have known you would be one of the ones who liked it!”

 

“It might be faster, you said!  Might!” Bilbo cried.  “It is faster indeed!”

 

“It is not like this the whole way, thank Mahal,” shouted Nori.


	9. Down the Forlinduin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo and Nori leave Belegost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize in advance to purists, and I welcome your critique: none of the maps I consulted named the river that runs from the Ered Luin through Forlindon to the Gulf of Lhûn, so I made it up. Please forgive me!

 

 

They went far, that first day down the river, all the way out into the foothills.  Though the water rushed still, it was not the brilliant madness of that first rush down the mountain.  Nori steered the canoe to the side and directed Bilbo to disembark.  They stretched, and Bilbo found his back ached almost as much as his arms.

 

“We’ll have a cold dinner,” Nori said, “then get back on the river.  We go as far as we can today.”

 

“You must sleep,” Bilbo told him.  “You slept not at all last night!”

 

“I will sleep,” Nori said.  “In the bottom of the canoe, while you steer.  After dinner, you learn how.”

 

Bilbo laughed, and then he realised Nori was serious.  “I, steer?” he asked incredulously.  “I had never held a paddle like this before today!  I had never seen a canoe.”

 

“It’s not so hard,” Nori said.  “And you can’t lose your way on a river.”

 

After dinner Nori showed Bilbo some different ways to paddle, and he practised a bit before Nori lay down to sleep.  Bilbo was tired too, but it was as much an emotional weariness as it was his physical aches.  Nori had said only to keep them off the sides and around any rocks; and though the river still flowed fast, Bilbo did not have trouble.  He wondered how long the journey would take going this way, but he would not wake Nori to ask.

 

His thoughts kept turning to Thorin as he had looked when last he saw him: furious, but still so handsome and majestic.  He was magnificent, Thorin; Bilbo could never love another like.  He didn’t think there were two like Thorin in all the world.  For only two years he had had him, and there would never be another for Bilbo; he would love Thorin forever.  He felt the tears roll down his cheeks and made no effort to wipe them away, only steered down the Forlinduin and cried for his lost love.

 

Bilbo paddled until twilight, then woke Nori.  They pulled the canoe out of the water and made a cold camp.  The winter night was clear and cold, but the bitter wind dropped down off of the water.  Nori showed him how they might turn the canoe over for shelter, and they huddled together for warmth beneath it.  Bilbo was exhausted, and it was not long before sleep took him.

 

In the morning things seemed better to Bilbo, though the wind bit again as they put out onto the river, and his arms were sore, and he shivered in his seat.

 

“Paddle,” Nori said, “and you will warm up.  And we want to make good time, that we may be out of the foothills tonight.”  Bilbo did not understand why Nori still rushed.

 

“I do not want to dawdle,” he said.  “But why are you so frantic to get downriver?  Do you fear pursuit?”

 

“I do,” he said.  “Coins will only keep a Dwarf silent for so long, and I had to deal with some that--while I know them, they feel no loyalty to me.  But I think if we can make it three days down the river before pursuit begins, no one will be able to catch us on the river; and they will not be able to track us easily in the Grey Havens.”

 

“Three days!” Bilbo cried.

 

“Yes,” Nori said.  “I have heard you speak of him, and Ori has told me of the way you are with each other.  If there is any hope of catching us, he will try.”

 

Bilbo was quiet.

 

“If what you had was not enough, I do not know how any love lasts,” Nori added.  “Perhaps it is just that a calmer love weathers the storms better.  Perhaps in a calmer love, there aren’t as many storms.”

 

“I could not say,” Bilbo answered.  “I have only loved the once, and you see how it ended.”

 

“I have never loved any but my family,” Nori told him.  “I don’t know which way is better either.”

 

The river was as beautiful this day as the previous one had been.  It sparkled and shone in the clear morning; and the air, the water:  the world seemed new, at its very beginning.  Bilbo knew he would still think of Thorin, but he was determined that today he would not cry.  He would cry all his life if he could not think of Thorin without tears.

 

“Nori,” he called back to him.  “Tell me of your other brother, Dori.”

 

For a few minutes there was silence.  Then Nori said, “He has always been very strong.  He could lift me and Ori both even after I reached my full growth.”

 

“Is he much older than you?” Bilbo asked.

 

“Four years,” Nori said.  “There is more space between Ori and me; for he is fifteen years younger than I am.”

 

“And you all three have different fathers,” Bilbo prompted.

 

“Bilbo,” Nori said.  “You pick at my pain to distract you from your own.  Please, let it be.  We are estranged.”

 

“I’m sorry,” Bilbo said after a moment.

 

“I as well,” Nori said.

 

They paddled in silence then, until they reached a place where the river spread and turned very shallow as it rounded a bend.

 

“We must portage,” Nori said.  He steered them to the near bank of the river.  “Get out here.  Now we carry the canoe.”

 

“Carry it!”  Bilbo exclaimed.  “For how far?”

 

“Only until the water is deep enough for the canoe again.  We would scrape up and be stranded on this.  I think we must just cross this short stretch here, inside the bend in the river.”

 

It was difficult to pick their way along the riverbank while carrying the laden canoe; but Nori was right: it was not far.  Before they put in again they pulled out some cheese and bread, and ate their luncheon quickly there on the rocks.

 

“Why do so few come this way?” Bilbo asked after they were on their way again.

 

“Not many can travel in each canoe, nor can you carry much gear,” Nori replied, “and there is the bother of how to get the canoe back to Belegost.  When I have done it before, we came in the spring when the water flowed high, and the boat could be carried back in a wagon with a caravan.”

 

“Is that what you will do this trip?” Bilbo asked.  His paddle dripped clear water as he steadily stroked through the current.

 

“No, I will sell this canoe when we reach Forlond,” Nori said.  “I do not need the attention it would bring on my return to the mountain.”

 

Bilbo did not understand.  “Why would anyone notice, if you were with a caravan?”

 

“The caravan would notice,” Nori replied.  “Bilbo, this route is not used.”

 

“But it is so lovely, and you said it was faster,” Bilbo said.  “I would think it would be.”

 

“It is not the safest route, and most do not know there is a way to the West Gate through the ancient city,” Nori told him.  “Bilbo.  Only smugglers come this way.”

 

“Oh,” Bilbo said.  “Oh.”  He brightened.  “And now I am a smuggler as well!”

 

“You are the contraband,” Nori countered.

 

“Still,” said Bilbo.  “I am smuggling myself.”  Nori laughed.

 

“Very well,” he replied.  “You are a smuggler of precious goods stolen from the king.”

 

Bilbo sobered a bit at that, but then determinedly rallied.  “I am,” he declared, “the most desperate of criminals: thief and smuggler both!”  And they both laughed at that, and Bilbo was glad of the cheer to distract him from his woes.  And from his aching arms: they had never worked so hard in all his life.

 

They did reach the edge of the foothills by twilight.  They could have a fire that evening, Nori said, and Bilbo was very glad of it.  It was noticeably less chilly than it had been higher in the mountain, but it was still cold; a warm supper and a fire were most welcome.

 

The next day – the third day, after which Nori thought they would be safe from pursuit, dawned cloudy as they left the foothills behind.  The morning was a bit warmer as a result, but Bilbo hoped a storm was not coming.  They would be miserable without cover.

 

“I think it will hold off a while yet,” Nori said.  “I hope it does.  If it does storm, we must get out again.  It is not safe on the river then.”

 

“Does that mean someone following might catch us?” Bilbo asked.

 

“No,” Nori said, “for they must pull off the river as well, and the storm is likely to be worse up the mountain.”

 

Bilbo sighed.  He realised that he had hoped, just a little, ever since Nori mentioned the possibility that Thorin would catch them: that he would say he was wrong, that Bilbo must of course publish his book, only please come back to him.  But it was a ridiculous hope.  He and Thorin might love each other, but they did not work.

 

It did rain lightly in the afternoon; but there was no lightning and Nori said they might press on.  The river was a deep green this day; and with grey skies above, it was a tranquil atmosphere.  Bilbo wished for the exhilaration of the mountain again.  He wondered if this was like Nori’s comparison.  He wanted the excitement, and so he had loved it when Thorin swept him up into their whirlwind; but that a quiet love was more like this stretch of the river: steady, predicable, safer; but also peaceful.  He deliberately turned his thoughts away.  The rain made him melancholy.

 

The journey that had taken them more than three weeks in the fall took less than two to come back by river.  Civilization had come upon them as they went down the Forlinduin; farms and towns came and went.  At Forlond, they were able to hire passage by sail to the Grey Havens, and that trip only took two days.  Bilbo was more than halfway home.

 

He could see that Nori did not like to let him continue on his own, but Bilbo assured him that this part of the journey would be very safe.

 

“The Westmarch was easy to cross, and now I am an experienced traveller,” Bilbo said.  “I have learned much from you and Adalgrim both, and he made this trek alone as well.”

 

“I still don’t like it,” Nori said, “but I see you have made your decision.  I only wish more travelled that way.”

 

“The Shire is too quiet,” Bilbo replied.  “Only hobbits want to go there.  I will be fine.”

 

After two days of rest and provisioning, he said goodbye to Nori and left.  The weather remained clear, for which he was grateful, for there were few sheltering trees along the way.  He still thought of Thorin often, but it was a dull ache; and he was resigned to it.  He had known when he left that he would not stop loving Thorin so easily.  He thought he travelled further each day than he had coming with Adalgrim, and realised his cousin had been easy on him so he might learn along the way.  He felt grateful to him all over again.

 

And as the Shire grew closer, he looked more and more forward to coming home.  He had loved Belegost, but he had been so caught up there that he saw now how much he had missed rolling hills and the sun on his face. He was saddened to leave behind the Dwarves that he loved (and not just Thorin); but his family lay ahead, and it had been two years since he saw them last.  He looked forward to seeing his mother, and Adalgrim, and all his cousins.  Soon he would be home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> edited October 17 2013. Commas and semi-colons, AGAIN. *sigh*


	10. Back in the Shire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Though Bilbo has been changed by his experiences, the Shire remains as it was.

 

 

All Hobbiton stared as he came into town.  Some ran off (to gossip, most likely), but more greeted him enthusiastically.  He had so many invitations to tea he would be busy for months.  He did not stop to visit, however, but hurried home.  He couldn’t wait to see Mama, and he didn’t want some Gamgee fauntling to be the first to tell her of his arrival.  He had treated her so badly when he left with just a note; he did not want to return badly as well.

 

The round green door was unlocked, as usual.  Bilbo pushed it open hesitantly, but he didn’t see Mama there.  Bilbo set down his knapsack.

 

“Mama,” he called as he went down the hall.  “Mama, I’m home.”  He did not see her in the smial so he went out into the garden.  She was there, clipping forsythia branches for forcing.

 

“Mama?” Bilbo said gently.  “I’m home.”

 

Mama turned around and dropped her pruners, and the branches scattered across the ground.

 

“Bilbo!” she cried, and then they were both laughing and crying and holding each other tight.  “Oh, my Bilbo!”  She linked her arm in his.  “Come in; we will have tea, and you will tell me everything about your adventure.”

 

Over tea Bilbo apologized to Mama for leaving as he had done, but her reaction surprised him:  for she laughed.

 

“Oh, I will not say I was not hurt,” she said, “but I was also disappointed in myself.  I always swore when you were born I would not do as your grandmother did.”

 

Bilbo was intrigued; he had never thought of anyone trying to stop Mama when she was younger.  He was not sure he had thought anything _could_ stop Mama, ever.  He told Mama so.

 

“Your grandmother certainly tried,” Mama said.  “But one summer when Gandalf had come with fireworks for your grandfather’s birthday; I followed him out of town the next day, and I didn’t leave even a note, as you did.”  Mama’s chortle filled the dining room.  “Gandalf didn’t ever notice I followed him, either; he only knew I was there when I strode into camp three days later asking when dinner would be.”  She paused.  “In my experience, that was the hardest part about adventuring.”

 

“Not enough meals,” Bilbo agreed.  “I have become used to a Dwarven eating schedule!”

 

Mama laughed again, and said, “But I want to hear of your adventures, not tell of my own long ago ones.  I did not expect you to visit until summer at the earliest.  You wrote so, and this must have been terrible weather for travel.”

 

Bilbo hung his head, and his tears flowed again.

 

“It is not a visit, Mama; I have come home to stay,” he said.

 

“But your Thorin…” Mama said.

 

“He is my Thorin no longer,” Bilbo replied.  “I could not stay.”

 

“Oh, Bilbo,” Mama hugged him tight.  “He is a fool to have let you go.”

 

“I think we were both fools,” Bilbo told her, “though I love him still, and I think he still loves me.  We just...”  His voice trailed off.  Some things he could not say.

 

Spring in the Shire began muddy but soon green crept over everything.  Bilbo went for long walks each morning; and though he would not go to tea out every day, still he must go some days.  He had been long gone from the Shire, and his family and friends demanded their shares of his time.  His days passed.

 

He was most gratified to see that Adalgrim and Lupine Boffin had married, so Adalgrim’s impromptu supervision of his journey to the Grey Havens had not destroyed his courtship.

 

“I think it was the other way round,” Lupine told him, her hands folded over her rounded belly.  “I looked for him at my birthday party and he was not there, and I realised that I missed him more than I cared about the rest of them.”  She laughed.  “Though when he came back I slapped him across the face for not telling me before he went.”

 

“It was a secret from my mother,” Bilbo said.  “We didn’t dare her finding out too soon.”

 

Lupine shook her finger at him.  “And that was very bad of you too,” she scolded.  “Your poor mother was in tears for weeks.”

 

“She wouldn’t have let me go, and I needed to,” Bilbo replied.

 

“It was still very bad of you,” she said.  “But now you are back!”

 

“Yes,” Bilbo said.  “Now I am back.”

 

After a few months of teas like this, where Bilbo was roundly scolded by every female Hobbit in the Shire except his own mother (who had the most reason to complain), Bilbo’s invitations finally died back down to something normal.  He spent more time in Papa’s study then, looking out the window or desultorily paging through one of his favourite books.  Mama would sometimes come and stand in the door and watch him, and if he caught her eye she would smile at him.  Bilbo felt guilty again and wondered if she thought he would just up and leave again one day.  But when she spoke, it was not of his leaving.

 

“I was thinking, Bilbo,” she began, “that you must make this study your own.  It is past time.  Your father has been dead these four years now.”

 

“I don’t want to lose what made it his,” Bilbo said.  “I feel close to him here.”

 

“No,” she said.  “I know.  But perhaps we could pack up your papa’s books so there is more room for your things in here.”

 

Bilbo thought about it.  “All right,” he said.  “Tomorrow.”

 

“Tomorrow, then,” Mama said.

 

Bilbo found that packing up Papa’s things brought back many memories: of Papa reading to him, or smoking a pipe in his study, or helping him with lessons.  He did not feel as if he were putting Papa away with his books.  Papa would always be with him.

 

And the study seemed empty without them, so Bilbo’s books and papers were a welcome change.  The study felt lived in again, and Bilbo felt the urge to return to his studies as he had not since he fled from Belegost, and Thorin.  He shifted in his desk chair and pulled out paper and quill.  First, he must write to those who had been so important to him these two years.  He wrote first to Balin, with a note for Dwalin at the bottom; then to Ori and Nori, though he thought there was some chance his letter would arrive in Belegost only with Nori, or perhaps a bit before.  Then there was one last sheet of paper in front of him.

 

 

_Dear Thorin,_

 

_I still think of you every day.  I do not ask if you do the same; rather, I hope you do not.  I do not like to think of you sad._

 

_And I write to tell you how sorry I am that I left you in such a way, with only a short note and little explanation.  I wish I had told you that I went home face to face. ~~I wish I had not had to come home at all.~~_

 

_Please, Thorin, be happy._

 

_With love,_

_Bilbo_

 

 

Afterwards he dried his eyes and sealed the envelope.  He felt better for having written.  He thought he might go to Bree soon, and he would post the letters there.  Perhaps Master Stringler’s _Emporium of Books and Scrolls_ still had an excellent selection of Dwarven texts.  He had been spoiled in Belegost, but he need not give up his studies simply because he returned to the Shire.

 

***

 

Several months later, Bilbo received letters from both Ori and Balin.  Ori’s letter was full of his work for Balin, and how interesting it was, and how soon he might begin his masterwork.  Balin’s was rather different.

 

 

_Oh, Bilbo, my lad:_

 

_I was very glad to receive your letter, as I have been worried about you: the note we had from Ori said only that you left.  Thorin would not speak of it those first days when you could not be found, and after it was worse.  So I was left with a mystery, though I suppose it is not my business what happened between you and Thorin._

 

 _Though now I have a guess as to what drove you from Belegost, as I was one of the first to have a copy of your_ Enukhush Azanulbizaru _.  It is brilliant, but I can see why Thorin would not like it.  It is a hard thing you have written for us Dwarves.  We are perhaps given to foolhardy expeditions, as you say; but we cannot help what is in our nature.  And Thorin has not an historian’s perspective._

 

_I do miss you and your bright mind.  I hope that your Shire may appreciate what they have in you._

 

_Balin_

 

 _p. s.  I am concerned about what you write in_ Enukhush Azanulbizaru _: that you believe that though Thorin gravely wounded Azog, he did not kill him.  I have spoken to Dwalin, and some few others whom I know you interviewed; I must admit that the evidence supports your claim.  But it is a dark day indeed if the slayer of Thror is not himself dead._

 

 

Bilbo was glad not to have lost all his correspondents or his friends when he fled from Belegost so precipitously.  He continued to write both Balin and Ori (and Ori wrote that when Balin heard that he had been the one to translate _Enukhush Azanulbizaru_ , he had told Ori it should stand as his masterwork), and he began to receive a flood of letters from his other correspondents.  _Enukhush Azanulbizaru,_ it seemed, was very controversial indeed; but it had raised issues regarding the battle that day that Dwarven historians must now address.  Some were vehemently opposed to his thesis; but others wrote that he had voiced the great difficulty of the battle; and they could not argue with his analysis, though many still had questions.

 

 _Enukhush Azanulbizaru_ had made Bilbo into a known expert on that piece of Dwarven history, and Bilbo could not regret it.  He had dedicated his life to the Dwarves and their past.  Only sometimes, in the middle of the night, when he missed blue eyes and rare laughter and the warmth of a muscular body next to his; then he regretted it very much.  But in the daylight he could not.

 

He began, then, another manuscript.  He did not know that the reception of this book would be any different than that of his first had been; but this was also a history that must be acknowledged, and like the battle of Azanulbizar he knew it to be his to tell.  It was very different writing in the Shire.  Mama let him be in his study between meals; but she insisted he emerge for elevenses and tea, which Bilbo had become accustomed to skipping while he wrote, and often they had guests drop by that must be entertained.  He also must rely on his memories and the books he had available to him in his library, and there was almost nothing relevant.

 

Balin became an invaluable correspondent again; his expertise unmatched, and he was willing to seek out answers in Belegost for those of Bilbo’s questions he could not answer.  Bilbo had promised him co-authorship, but he refused.   _This is yours_ , he wrote.   _I could not take it from you, not any part of it._

 

 _You do all the work_ , Bilbo had replied.   _You must allow me to acknowledge it._  Without Balin it would have been impossible; even with Balin’s help he did not know if he would be able to finish.  There were too many gaps in his knowledge, and no other had ever attempted it, so he could not rely on another’s work.  But Balin still refused.   _Sankurdu, Sanruthukh: Thorin II Sanmelhekh_ was Bilbo’s, and Bilbo’s alone.

 

He did not dare to think of whether or not Thorin would read it.  He did not dare think of what Thorin would think if he did.  He knew if he did he would fret so that it would destroy his work.  When he had been in Belegost, with Thorin immediately before him, he had been too close to consider such a work.  Even now his attempts at objectivity failed.   _Pure Heart, True Hand: Thorin II, Perfect King_?  It was a title better suited to a love poem.  But of all the Dwarves’ stories that had not been told, the story of the king of an exiled people was the one that called to him.  It must be told and he would do it if he could.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> edited October 17 2013.


	11. A Death, and a Quest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After years of quiet in the Shire, Bilbo is called to another adventure.

 

 

Two years later his work was still unfinished when his mother took ill.  She thought at first it was a cold that would not go away, then it settled into her lungs and she took to her bed.  Bilbo set his work aside to nurse his mother.  She did recover from her illness after a while, but the cough seemed to last and last; and she was more prone to illness that winter.  When spring came the next year, Bilbo hoped that the warmer weather would help her chase away the last of her ill health.  Winter had left her thinner and pale.

 

But Belladonna Baggins still had a wet cough that spring and it lasted into summer and through the fall.  She fell ill often, and grew frailer each time.  By the end of fall in 1333 _S. R._ , Bilbo was frantic; but no medicine worked and his mother did not get better.  Bilbo feared the worst.  A desperate pall settled over Bag End.  His mother did rally for Yule, but then her cough worsened again; and she did not have the strength to leave her bed, and her breath began to rattle.  She died mid-Afteryule.

 

Belladonna Baggins had been an adventuress in her youth, but after her marriage to Bungo she had lived a quiet life.  She was not quite as respectable as a proper Baggins, but she was respectable enough; and Hobbiton cared for their neighbours.  Bilbo was overwhelmed with hobbits bringing by food, and sitting with him, and helping him prepare for the funeral.  He knew he should be glad for the help, but he just wanted them all to go away.

 

He even felt that way when Adalgrim and Lupine came.  Adalgrim was a quiet support, and Lupine protected him from the worst of the well-wishers; but Bilbo only wanted to be left alone in Bag End with the memories of his parents, both gone now.

 

“I know I can’t say anything to make it right,” Adalgrim said.  “I know you want her here instead of all of us.  But we love you too, you know.”

 

Bilbo nodded.

 

“I wish you’d come back to the Great Smials with us for a while,” Adalgrim added.  “I’d feel better to know you weren’t alone.”

 

“I can’t,” Bilbo said.  “Thank you for offering.  I just can’t right now.”

 

Adalgrim put his arm around Bilbo’s shoulders.

 

“You know you are always welcome,” he said.  “Favourite little cousin.”

 

Bilbo smiled wanly.  “Still my favourite too,” he said.

 

Finally the visitors and their food brigades trailed off, and Bilbo was left alone.  He wandered Bag End and out into the garden, but otherwise he secluded himself from the rest of Hobbiton.  He tried to pick up his work again, but he could not face it.  He had tried to keep up with his correspondence while his mother was ill, but now he could not reply to the letters he received.  It was Forelithe before he found he could think of it, and then he wrote not to Ori or Balin or even Dís, but to Thorin.

 

 

_Dearest Thorin,_

 

_My mother has died.  You and my father and she were the ones I have loved most in all of Middle Earth.  I miss all three of you desperately._

 

_I am heartened to know that you live yet, king in Belegost, and will for some time to come.  Though I am not with you, you are always close to my thoughts._

 

_I remember once you told me you did not know there would be such pain in love.  Nor did I.  I knew I would not love another when I left you.  I could not know how long it would hurt._

 

_And I wonder if I wronged you when I fled Belegost, as much as you wronged me.  I wonder if you would have softened in time, and come to understand how much_ Enukhush Azanulbizaru _meant to me.  I cannot know; but these quiet days since my mother’s death, when I have longed for your comfort … then I think perhaps I would trade anything to be in your arms._

 

 _But I cannot change what is past; no more than I can bring my mother back to life._

 

 _I pray that you are happy, my king._

_With all my love,_

_Your Bilbo_

 

 

Bilbo did not send this letter.

 

He found it gave him some peace to have written it, however; and he began to face each day with greater courage.  His mother was gone; but he lived, and Thorin lived in his mountain; and his mother would have been very sorry to see him mourn so much that he no longer lived but a shadow life himself.  He took out his manuscript again, and began to write letters again, and to leave Bag End to walk to Hobbiton market or past, to Bywater pool.

 

His manuscript, though: that he found he must set aside after all.  He did not _want_ to finish it; it was his only connection to Thorin, and he did not want it to be over.  So it sat on his shelf, and he sometimes put his hand on it for comfort; but he began to work on something else instead, a study of the events that led to the beginnings of the War between the Dwarves and the Elves: _Udu Smaug Burushur ana ‘Azagh Rakhâs_.

 

Here again Balin was a great help, and he found far more resources available to him outside Belegost; but best of all was Ori, who sent him a heavy package of books about the first years of exile from Erebor.   _Udu Smaug Burushur ana 'Azagh Ruk Rakhâs_ went from one volume, to two, and then three as Bilbo wrote.  Once again the Dwarven histories told of the achievements of their heroes without acknowledging their pain and suffering as well.  To Bilbo, it undercut not only the truth of their histories but also those the histories sought to honour.  Without writing of what they had overcome, the Dwarven heroes’ accomplishments were diminished.

 

Volume I was published in 1337 _S. R._ , and Volume II the next year, and the final volume in 1340 _S. R_.  The last volume had been delayed because of much upheaval in Belegost.  Balin wrote that the political situation there had become tenuous enough that Thorin sent trusted emissaries, of whom Dwalin was one, to the other Dwarven mountains.  Perhaps Durin’s Folk might find better welcome elsewhere.  In 1341 _S. R.,_ only a few months after the third volume of _Udu Smaug Burushur ana 'Azagh Ruk Rakhâs_ was published, Balin wrote that Thorin himself had left the mountain to search for other opportunities for his people.

 

It was still a surprise to find Dwalin on his doorstep the same day he had a strange encounter with a wizard, and Balin not far behind.  To be fair, they both seemed quite surprised as well.

 

“I didn’t expect to know our burglar, much less that you would be the one to join us,” Dwalin told him.

 

“Your burglar? What burglar?” Bilbo asked.  “’Tis the first I’ve heard of any burgling.”

 

“Oh dear,” Balin said.  “Bilbo, did no one speak to you of joining our adventure?”

 

Bilbo sighed.  “A very strange person named Gandalf came this morning, and he said something about my mother and adventures; but I thought he only came to tea tomorrow.  I certainly did not expect the two of you this evening, though I am very glad to see you!”

 

“Oh dear,” Balin repeated.  “We are not the only ones who come, Bilbo.”

 

“More?” Bilbo cried.  He rushed to the pantry.  “I do not know if I have enough to feed you all!  How many come?”

 

“We are thirteen in number,” Balin told him.

 

“Thirteen!” Bilbo cried.  “Why did that blasted wizard not tell me?  How can I prepare for thirteen!”

 

“Tell him,” Dwalin told Balin.  “He must know.”

 

Bilbo stopped his frantic perusal of his pantry.

 

“I must know what, Dwalin?” he asked, but Dwalin only looked to his brother.  Bilbo turned to Balin as well.  “Balin?”  He began to dread he knew not what.  “Balin, what must I know?”

 

Balin turned to Bilbo and seemed to steel himself.

 

“Thorin comes,” he said.  “And perhaps some others you may know.”

 

Bilbo sat down.

 

“Thorin,” he stated blankly.  “Thorin comes here, tonight.”  He had never thought he would see Thorin again.  He was not ready!  And then there was a knock on his door.  Bilbo dreaded to open it, but when he did it was not Thorin, not yet; rather it was Fíli and Kíli!  He was glad to see them, though they were as rambunctious as ever; his mother’s glory box would never be the same.  They seemed happy to see him as well, and there were many exclamations of surprise.  Dwalin pressed them into duty moving the larger table into the dining room, and Bilbo began to go back to his pantry to see how he could feed so many; but then there was another knock on his door.  It was still not Thorin but rather a pile of eight Dwarves falling into his entry and Gandalf behind them, and some of them Bilbo did know as well, for dear Nori and Ori were among them!

 

Nori and Ori he greeted with hugs and knocks to the forehead, and the rest declared themselves at his service; so he bowed and pledged his service as well.  He was very interested to meet Nori and Ori’s elder brother, and the others seemed quite nice as well.  When he turned he discovered that Balin, Dwalin, Fíli, and Kíli had made themselves at home in his pantry: the entire contents seemed to be on the table.  The entire party of Dwarves descended upon it like they had not eaten in days; Bilbo was rather appalled at their manners.

 

Gandalf seemed very pleased with himself and with the impromptu party.

 

“You did not tell me to expect any guests at all, much less fourteen for dinner,” Bilbo scolded him.  “I only invited _you_ for tea tomorrow!”

 

Gandalf only laughed, and drank his glass of red wine.  Though usually Bilbo prided himself on being an excellent host, he was rather displeased with Gandalf; so he did not offer him a larger glass for his wine, nor to refill the one he had.

 

“And why are you and these Dwarves here at all?” Bilbo persisted.  “Dwalin mentioned a burglar, and I am sure I am no thief!”

 

“You are!” Nori called from the other room.  “Thief and smuggler both, remember?  A desperate criminal!”

 

Bilbo had to smile at him, and Gandalf made his escape.

 

“Humph,” Dwalin grunted.  “I begin to see how you left Belegost without any sign those years ago.”  He frowned at Bilbo, but Bilbo thought he was not truly angry.  “How did you get out, anyway?”

 

Nori shushed Bilbo, his characteristic sly look on his face.  “Trade secret,” he declared.  Bilbo looked at Dwalin, smiled, and shrugged.

 

“Trade secret,” he repeated, and then to Nori: “I had forgotten I was a smuggler; I have been respectable these eleven years now!”

 

When Bilbo began to realise that these Dwarves would eat everything, though Thorin had not yet arrived, he made a plate to set aside for him.  He had to slap Kili’s hands away from it several times.  He was both glad and not that Thorin was the last to arrive.  He was a wreck of nerves when he thought about seeing Thorin again; he wanted to delay it as long as possible.  He wanted to see him right then.  He did not know what he wanted or what sort of reaction Thorin would have.  He was not quite sure how he would react himself.  And then there was the last knock at the door.

 

Bilbo found his feet would not move.  Gandalf opened the door to let Thorin in.

 

He looked the same.  As handsome, as majestic as ever: and he had aged slowly, as dwarves do.  He was the same.  Bilbo was aware that he looked every bit of a decade older than he had been in Belegost.  Thorin did not see Bilbo at first, hidden behind Gandalf.

 

Thorin greeted Gandalf, and asked, “Here is where we will find your burglar?  I would not have thought–“ and then he broke off.  He had seen Bilbo.  He took a step forward, and then another, and his eyes never left Bilbo’s; but then he stopped and turned to Gandalf and said, “He looks more like a grocer than a burglar.”

 

Bilbo flinched with the shock of it, followed by an embarrassed rush of anger.  Thorin had been many things, but never before had he been deliberately cruel.  The company’s reaction was mixed: some laughed, mostly those who did not know Bilbo.  Balin looked disappointed, and Dwalin resigned; but Ori’s eyes were wide with shock and Nori looked furious.  Fíli and Kíli seemed not to know what to do, whether to laugh or to protest.  Bilbo looked at Thorin and waited for him to turn back to him; but Thorin turned away instead, towards the company.  Bilbo blinked back tears, and nodded once – he knew not to whom or to what, the door maybe – and went to his study.  It had been worse than he had thought it would be.

 

Gandalf came to look for him later, to convince him to join this mad quest they went on to Erebor and to Smaug, to persuade him that he needed an adventure.  Bilbo thought that he would never understand Dwarves and their need to engage in doomed expeditions.  He felt sick for his friends.

 

“I have had my adventure,” he told Gandalf, “and it was enough for me.  I do not need another.”

 

“You are stagnant here,” Gandalf replied.

 

“You cannot promise I will come back,” Bilbo said, his eyes on the open door.  He could hear Dwarves singing, but he could not care.  Thorin could not have shown Bilbo that his love was dead any more unless he had brought a spouse to Bilbo’s doorstep instead of twelve other Dwarves and a Wizard.  But Gandalf spoke, bringing Bilbo’s attention back to him.

 

“I cannot,” Gandalf said, “but I can promise that if you do, you will not be the same.”

 

“Yes,” Bilbo said. “I remember that from the previous adventure.” 

 

After Gandalf left him, Nori had his turn.

 

“I made a promise to you,” he said.  “If you went to Erebor to see Smaug himself, I would be with you.”

 

“If I do not go, will you stay behind?” Bilbo asked him.  “And kidnap the rest of them, that they may be safe and not dead within the year?”

 

Nori looked at him sadly, and shook his head.

 

“Ori goes on commission from Balin, to record the mission for posterity,” he told him.  “It is why Dori and I both go.”  He coughed.  “And certain of my past activities will be pardoned.”

 

“Ori cannot be convinced that this is insane?  That you will all be killed?”  Bilbo’s voice rose with every word.

 

Nori shook his head.

 

“Would you have let Thorin burn your book?” he asked.

 

Bilbo’s shoulders slumped.

 

“I would like to be alone for awhile, please,” he told Nori, and Nori slipped away as quietly as he had come.

 

Each of his friends had their turn at him, Fíli and Kíli together first, then Dwalin, and Balin, and finally Ori.  Ori’s eyes shone with a delight that Bilbo recognised.

 

“It is the grandest event of Thorin’s reign!” he exclaimed.  “He will restore to us our rightful home and the dragon will be brought to dust!”

 

“How, exactly, do you plan to do that?” Bilbo asked dryly, but Ori waved him off.

 

Ironically, it was Thorin’s note the next morning that convinced him to go.

_I should never have come had I known it was you,_ it read.   _Stay with your soft life, Hobbit.  You never did understand the glory Dwarves find in such grand undertakings._

 

Bilbo read it, and he slowly reached for his unfinished _Sankurdu, Sanruthukh_.

_The glory Dwarves find in such grand undertakings._ He did not understand it.  Perhaps he never would.  But he would try, that he might understand his estranged king better.  And if Thorin died, well: that would be all he loved in the world, gone forever.  Bilbo had rather be with him, and dead too.  He took his manuscript with him to his room.  It was the first thing he packed.

 

Bilbo had not thought that when he caught up to the Dwarves’ company, Thorin would suddenly look at him with love in his eyes again; and he did not.  He ignored Bilbo instead; and Bilbo, for his part, gave Thorin a wide berth.  He was always aware of Thorin, however; and when they camped at night he watched him.  If Thorin would not acknowledge him, then he could not tell him if he minded; and Bilbo had not seen Thorin for over ten years.  He thirsted to see him, even if only across a campfire.  Glorious Thorin.  In comparison Bilbo felt every inch a dusty historian, a _grocer_ as Thorin had called him.  He wondered that he had ever caught Thorin’s gaze in the first place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Udu Smaug Burushur ana 'Azagh Ruk Rakhâs: Wounded by Smaug to the Orcish War
> 
>  
> 
> edited, October 17 2013.


	12. Sanghivasha

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Quest to Erebor begins.

 

 

When Fíli and Kíli told him they had lost two of the ponies, Bilbo shook his head in despair.

 

“I know your mother raised you to be smarter than this,” he said.  “How can you lose two ponies?”

 

And then a troll came and carried off two more.

 

“How could you miss that?” Bilbo cried. “What were you _doing_?”

 

They looked at the ground and mumbled.

 

“ _What_?” Bilbo asked.  They mumbled again.

 

“Fine,” Bilbo declared.  “ _Fine_.  I will go see if I can burgle.  You two _idiots_ go for help.  Lost the ponies!  Honestly!”

 

It did not go well with the trolls, and Bilbo knew Thorin blamed him.  That was fine.  There was an anger slowly building in him, but he did not intend to show it to Thorin.  The thanks of his friends—neither Balin’s “Quick thinking, m’lad,” nor Kili’s sheepish apologies—did nothing to eliminate his anger.

 

Nor would Bilbo admit to himself that he found Thorin carrying _Orcrist_ very dashing.  He himself felt very strange strapping on the Elven knife Gandalf gave him.  He was meant to interpret the events of history, not to be a part of such a – what had Thorin called it – _grand undertaking._  Elven swords were meant for the likes of Thorin.

 

And as they fled from Orcs and then crept secretly out of Rivendell, Bilbo felt it again.  He was not meant for such things.

 

Nori disagreed.  “Just like old times, sneaking out of town, isn’t it?”  He elbowed Bilbo genially.  Bilbo smiled affectionately at him.

 

“In that case I’d rather take the river again,” he replied.  In front of him, Thorin stiffened.

 

“You were not seen leaving on the Little Lune,” he said.  The words seemed pulled out of him against his will.

 

“Not on the Little Lune, no,” Bilbo said, his chin high.

 

Thorin stopped walking.  “You left Belegost on the Forlinduin?” he asked incredulously.  “You could have been killed!” 

 

He snarled at Nori.  “You could have drowned him!”

 

Bilbo stood as tall as he could.  He was aware that the entire company bore silent witness, and he would not bend to Thorin now.

 

“But I didn’t drown,” he said.  “I _loved_ it.”

 

Thorin huffed.  “Loved it,” he repeated, and then he fell silent.  

 

But Bilbo felt his segregation from the company again as they crossed the Misty Mountains and found themselves trapped in the midst of a thunder battle.  Travelling with Nori up and down the Ered Luin had not prepared him for this.  He was no Dwarf to face such danger with equanimity; he was near paralyzed with fear.  When the giant they clung to fell to the mountain, Bilbo could see it:  the Dwarves prepared for the jump.  They leapt when Bilbo stumbled, and their strength let them cling to the rocks when Bilbo slipped and slid over the edge of the pass.  He thought he heard his name called, but he could not be sure over the thundering in his ears—he did not know if he heard the storm or his heartbeat.  But he was not a Dwarf, he was only a Hobbit; and his love for Thorin could do nothing for him here.  It could not save him from this pointless death.

 

Then he did hear his name—Ori called for him and dove to catch him, but Bilbo slipped further out of reach just as Ori’s hand touched his.  He clung to the rock with one hand and cursed Thorin for bringing him here.  He cursed himself for being unable to resist Thorin’s orbit.

 

And then it was Thorin who swung over the edge to his rescue, and he was lifted and pushed up the cliff.  Bilbo shakily clung to the solid rock beneath him, and was only vaguely aware of Dwalin diving to the edge of the cliff himself.  Bofur and Ori helped him to his feet, and Ori held him tight.  Bilbo was reminded again of Dwarven strength; he thought he would be bruised from Ori’s embrace.  Then hands pulled him roughly out of Ori’s arms and he was spun to face a pale, frightened Thorin.  He had never seen Thorin frightened, not in the entire time he had known him, but he knew it now:  Thorin had been frightened for him.  But even as he felt Thorin’s hands tighten on his arms, Thorin’s fear turned to anger.

 

“You should never have come!” Thorin yelled.  “Your comfortable Hobbit hole has not prepared you for this—you are not one of us and you never will be!”

 

Bilbo’s heart still beat fast and his fear became anger as well.  His chin went up and he pushed Thorin’s hands away.

 

“You never minded before,” Bilbo hissed.  “As I recall, you rather liked it.  You liked it quite a lot, actually!”

 

Thorin’s step back seemed involuntary.  “You should never have come,” he repeated, and then he turned to Dwalin.  “We must seek shelter,” he shouted, and Dwalin clapped Bilbo on the back and moved ahead, and the other Dwarves fell in line behind him.  Thorin looked back at Bilbo one more time, then turned away to follow as well.  Bilbo felt hands squeeze his shoulders and turned to find Nori, who hugged him silently, and Balin, who brought their foreheads together.

 

“Ah, laddie,” he said.  “That was quite a fright you gave us.”  Bilbo could only nod.  Nori gently pushed Bilbo ahead of him until he turned back and began to move ahead as well.  Bilbo hated Thorin in that moment.  It was Thorin who had brought them all here.  None of them should be on this journey.  Thorin most of all should not be risking himself; who would be king of Durin’s Folk if he died?  And he would take Fíli and Kíli, Durin’s future, with him, along with every Dwarf Bilbo loved.  But Thorin was right; though he loved them, Bilbo was no Dwarf; and he felt the separation between him and this company all the more.  In the night he rose from his bed to leave.  He would go home, and he would change the title of _Sankurdu, Sanruthukh_ to _Bijabîth Amrad: Thorin Oakenshield_.

 

When Bofur stopped him, Bilbo did not know how to explain his relationship to Thorin to him.

 

“I cannot stay,” he told Bofur.  “He is right to say I don’t belong here, though I have loved Dwarves all my life.”  He sighed.  “And one in particular.  But I am not one of you, and I am made to feel it.  I came out of love, but … So.  I will go home, where at least my comfortable armchair will not break my heart each day.”

 

Bofur smiled his sweet smile, and then noted the glow of Bilbo’s blade, and they fell into Goblintown.  Bilbo cowered, and found himself left behind as the Goblins carried off the Dwarves.  He sighed.  Certainly studying Dwarven heroes had not prepared Bilbo to be a hero himself, but what could he do but follow and try to help?  He wished it were Gandalf come to the rescue instead of him.  But then a Goblin attacked him, and they fell together, and Bilbo must try to rescue himself from being eaten alive by a strange creature called Gollum.

 

He wished he had spent more time telling riddles with other Hobbits than he had spent in his father’s study reading.  He did not know many riddles, but it seemed the Gollum did not know the ones Bilbo did know well.  How he escaped unscathed (except for his missing buttons) he was still not sure.  It all seemed a daze to him, and the world was so wavy and strange around him.  And the Dwarves didn’t see him either, anymore than Gollum had.  He approached them without stealth, but none turned his way; and some faced him and did not call out.  Gandalf and Thorin argued about him.

 

“But where is our burglar?  We must go back for him,” Gandalf insisted.  Thorin turned his back to Gandalf and the rest of the Dwarves, but Bilbo could see his face.

 

“He has gone back to his Hobbit hole,” Thorin said, and then his face broke into anguish and tears fell, but only for one moment.  He schooled his face again, and when he spoke his voice was steady, if a bit hoarse.  “He has always been good at leaving.”

 

Oh, Thorin.  Bilbo could see it now in his face, and he realized that he _had_ hurt Thorin terribly when he left him.  Fresh pain washed through him at the thought of Thorin, alone as he had been these many years.  Could he show his face to no one?  Must all his feelings be suppressed so?  Bilbo stepped behind a tree and slipped the ring from his finger.  The world came into its proper colours and shape around him.  He breathed deep and stepped back out.

 

“I am here,” he said, looking directly at Thorin.  Thorin’s eyes flashed with something then, relief or anger or some other emotion Bilbo could not name; then he closed them for a moment.  When he opened them again, his face was still and his eyes held nothing.

 

“Why do you come back?” he asked.

 

Bilbo looked to him for a long time.  If Thorin had hurt him, it seemed the wounds Bilbo had left behind were deeper than he had known.  It was an old hurt and Bilbo did not think he could do anything to heal it now.  But Thorin needed a confidant and a support to lean on, to whom he might show his real face; and Bilbo would be that for him if he could.

 

But he said none of that, only, “You do not have a home; and if I can help you win yours back, I will.”

 

And then they must run again, and face Azog and his Orcs and Wargs.  Bilbo shook to see Thorin stand and unsheathe _Orcrist_ and leave the relative safety of the pines for what seemed certain death at the hands of Azog.  He struggled to climb onto the pine’s trunk.  He did not understand why Thorin sought out death in this way, but he would not leave him to do it alone.  He had thought at the beginning of this quest that if Thorin died, Bilbo had rather die with him than live without him any longer.

 

He shook still as he killed the Orc Azog sent to execute Thorin as he lay still and helpless on the ground, and as he turned to face Azog himself.  He noted uneasily the hook that had replaced the hand Thorin had removed.  What had Thorin felt that day so long ago at Azanulbizar, Bilbo wondered?  Had he felt sure of his victory?  Or had he felt the dreadful fear Bilbo felt now?  The certainty that he would die, but he would sell his life for as high a cost as he could?  He was a Hobbit and a historian, and he would die that Thorin might live a minute longer.  Foolishness, recklessness … Still he held his blade high.

 

As Thorin embraced him on the Carrock, he shook again in reaction; but it was to be in Thorin’s arms again, and the emotion he felt was not fear.  When Thorin released him, Bilbo blinked back his tears and met Thorin’s eyes for a moment.  He was sure his love was visible on his face; but though he had much practice in reading Thorin, he could not read him now.  He did not know what Thorin thought.  Thorin stood before him, then stepped closer again, as close as he had been when his arms had been around him.  His hand came up to push Bilbo’s hair back behind his ear.

 

“Bilbo,” he said, his voice low, “Bilbo.”  His hand still caressed the side of Bilbo’s face.  Bilbo felt the old pain rise again inside of him.  He could not resist this Dwarf, and now Thorin knew it.

 

“I would–“ he said; but Bilbo did not learn what Thorin would, as Gandalf interrupted them.  Still, to face the Lonely Mountain, with Thorin at his side again, smiling at him... Bilbo was content.  His contentment lasted all the way to Beorn’s house.  With one touch Thorin had conquered him again. He had always had Bilbo’s heart, and Bilbo felt the relief of acceptance wash over him.  He was in Thorin’s hands; but he did not regret it, though he was sure it would bring him pain.

 

At Beorn’s house, after they had rested that first night, Thorin sought him again.  He drew Bilbo to a private nook of the hall, and manoeuvred him until Bilbo was trapped between walls on three sides and Thorin on the other.  Thorin’s eyes were bright.

 

“You love me,” he said, his voice wondering.  “You love me still.”  Bilbo nodded.

 

“Yet you left me, Bilbo; when you had promised you would not, ever again,” Thorin reproached.

 

“Thorin, you know why I left; and it was not because I stopped loving you,” Bilbo said, quiet tears beginning to fall.  Thorin’s hands came up to gently cradle his face.

 

“Did you not know I could deny you nothing?” Thorin asked.  “Nothing you asked of me.”

 

“You would have denied me my book,” Bilbo argued, but he turned his face to press a kiss to Thorin’s palm.

 

Thorin brushed away Bilbo’s tears with his thumb.  “ _Sanghivasha_ ,” he said, “I could not have.  It was the source of much of my anger.”  He leant forward until his forehead touched Bilbo’s.  He closed his eyes and his face twisted in pain.  “And the rest was in this: you wrote the secret fear of my heart, that my grandfather had failed our people.”

 

Bilbo’s hands came up then, to caress Thorin’s upper arms. 

 

“You have not and will not do the same,” he whispered.  “You are a king beyond measure.  Thror was nothing compared to you.”

 

As he shook his head, Thorin laughed sadly.

 

“You have said it: you are not impartial when it comes to me,” Thorin told him.

 

“I know your faults, Thorin, and I have had years away from you,” Bilbo replied.  “I am not impartial, no; but I rely not only on my thoughts.  Do you not understand what I do?  I would not tell a false history.”

 

Thorin pulled back, his face questioning.  Bilbo stood on his tiptoes, that he might whisper in Thorin’s ears.

 

“I have written another book,” Bilbo said.  After a moment Thorin nodded, his face wary.

 

“Shall I write for you the title?” Bilbo asked him.  Thorin nodded again, and Bilbo slid his little notebook and pencil from his pocket.  He showed Thorin.  Thorin looked at him, his face disbelieving.

 

“ _Sankurdu, Sanruthukh:  Thorin II Sanmelhekh_ ,” he read aloud.  Bilbo smiled to hear his title pronounced.

 

“I am not,” Thorin denied, his fists clenched.  “I am not what you call me.  I am the crownless king of an exiled people, and I have failed them since the beginning.”

 

Bilbo shook his head, and it was his turn to hold Thorin’s face in his hands.

 

“I am not alone in thinking it,” he said.  “I have only brought together the stories in it, as I was told them, by those who believed the same as I.”

 

Thorin shook his head.  Bilbo’s eyes narrowed.

 

“You will not call me a liar again,” he stated, and he pulled Thorin to him and kissed him.  It was not a chaste kiss.  Thorin’s arms wrapped around him desperately.  When they broke their kiss, Thorin yet held him tightly.

 

“I can deny you nothing,” Thorin repeated. “ _Zidenizu melhekhul âzyunguh, kurdûh_.”  

 

Bilbo sighed and scowled.  “It is cruel to speak what I do not understand,” he grumbled.

 

Thorin’s voice lowered to the faintest of whispers.  “You rule as king over my love and my heart,” he translated. 

 

“Thorin,” Bilbo gasped.  He could not believe that Thorin shared this… Bilbo smiled brilliantly up at him.  “ _Zidenizu melhekhul âzyungu, kurdûh_ ,” he repeated hesitantly.

 

Thorin’s eyes closed, his face a mask of lust.  He pushed Bilbo back against the wall and bit the point of his ear, and then his lobe.  Bilbo panted and whined, pressing his body to Thorin’s.

 

“It is good I did not know before how it would affect me to hear you speak Khuzdul,” Thorin growled low.  “You would speak it as well as any Dwarf.”  He pulled back then, though he still held Bilbo’s hand.

 

“Come,” he said.  “I require more privacy than this.”  He leaned in and bit at Bilbo’s ear again.  “It has been long, my _sanghivasha_.”

 

Bilbo looked at Thorin imploringly.

 

“Yes,” he said.  “Oh, yes. Only...”

 

“ _Sanghivasha_ ,” Thorin repeated.  “Perfect treasure.”

 

“ _Sanghivasha_ ,” Bilbo said.  Thorin laughed low, and pulled Bilbo close again, to feel his arousal between them.

 

“Do not deny me,” he groaned.  “Please, Bilbo.”

 

“I never could,” Bilbo replied.  Thorin laughed again, his rare, joyous laugh; and pulled Bilbo with him to find a private place.

 

Later, when they were sated, and Thorin slept, Bilbo whispered to him.

 

“I will not leave you again,” he vowed.  “Not for anything will I leave you again.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bijabîth Amrad: He who chooses death
> 
>  
> 
> edited October 17 2013.


	13. I will not leave you again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> War comes both under and and over the Lonely Mountain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> trigger warning: suicidal ideation

 

The following morning, Nori’s eyes narrowed to see Thorin and Bilbo as the dwarves broke their fast.  After, when Thorin must speak with Gandalf, he pulled Bilbo aside.

 

“Again, Bilbo?” he demanded.  “I do not think I can spirit you away should you two fight.”

 

“No,” Bilbo replied.  “I will not leave him, not for anything; I have sworn it.”

 

Nori sighed.  “Very well,” he said.  “I only hope that you know how bad ‘anything’ can be.”

 

Bilbo nodded unhappily at Nori.

 

“I have known since the beginning,” he said.  “We go to Smaug in Erebor.  I do not think we will have a long time together, and I will not leave him for any of it.”

 

Nori looked at Bilbo.

 

“You are so sure we go to our deaths,” he said.  Bilbo nodded.

 

“I am a Hobbit, not a Dwarf.  I do not understand why he does this; but as long as I can go with him, I am content,” he told Nori.  Nori shook his head, but he said no more.

 

Bilbo grasped Thorin greedily to him when he could, in that time at Beorn’s house.  They would not have much more time; he knew it; and he wanted every moment he could have.  The company’s reaction seemed mixed: Nori’s warning, shock from those who had not known of their history, resignation from Balin and Dwalin, Fíli and Kíli’s excitement, Ori’s blushes … but Bilbo would not worry about any of it.  Time was too short to be bothered by unimportant things, and everything but Thorin had become unimportant.

 

Thorin seemed as eager as he, though he remained conscious of his dignity as king.  Still, he smiled more, and laughed more; and Bilbo did all he could to coax forth those smiles and laughter.  Though he grew frightened as they approached the Mirkwood, Bilbo would not show it, only do his best to distract Thorin from his cares.  His hope lay in his success in that, not in any confidence in their ability to cross the Mirkwood or defeat the dragon.

 

But as they entered the Mirkwood, it seemed that Thorin had seen his fear, for he reached out and allowed Bilbo to cling to his hand.  “You will not come to harm, _sanghivasha_ ,” Thorin whispered to him.

 

“I will be with you,” Bilbo replied.  Thorin took him into harm, but he went willingly.  Though he loved Thorin, he could not see this quest as the “glorious undertaking” Thorin had called it.  Each day he was filled with joy to have another day with Thorin; each day he dreaded that this would be the last.  He told none of it to Thorin.

 

When Bilbo had saved the company from the giant spiders that haunted the Mirkwood, and Dwalin realised that Thorin was missing, then… then he allowed himself to despair.  He did not follow the company into the Elfking’s Halls because he had hope, but only because they were still his friends.  He would try to help them, but without Thorin … the rest of his thoughts were dark.

 

So it was a shock, though a joyous one, to learn that Thorin still lived, only was kept in the deepest dungeon.  Bilbo often went without food as he searched, stopping to eat and drink only when he grew faint.  The Elfking’s dungeons were extensive; Bilbo wondered at who had thought to build such a thing, that could imprison so many.  But finally he found the last lone prisoner, and it was Thorin.  He leant against the door to Thorin’s prison and cried.

 

“Who is there?” he heard Thorin ask suspiciously.  Ah, yes: his ring.  He slipped it off; but could not speak, so overcome was he.

 

“Bilbo,” Thorin said disbelievingly, and then again, “Bilbo;” and this time his voice was reassuring.  Bilbo only sobbed.

 

“Thorin,” he cried.  “If I will not leave you, you must not leave me either.  Not until our last day.”

 

“I swear if I do, it will not be willingly,” Thorin told him.  Bilbo nodded, and gasped for breath through his tears.  “My Bilbo,” Thorin said bemusedly.  “We have been apart so long, before this quest.”

 

“I can’t do it again,” Bilbo sobbed.  “I won’t.”

 

Though Bilbo could not see his face well in the dark, he could hear Thorin’s voice grow worried.

 

“Bilbo, you worry me,” he said.  “What do you mean?”

 

Bilbo could finally dry his tears.

 

“I mean nothing,” he said tiredly.  “Only, I will not be parted from you again.”

 

Thorin reached his hand through the bars, and Bilbo took it.

 

“Nor will I be parted from you,” Thorin said.  “Only death will take me from your side.”  Bilbo squeezed his hand tightly, and said nothing.  Thorin’s death would not keep him from Thorin’s side.  He had decided it; he would not live apart from him again.

 

Bilbo swore it again as they rode down the river, and as he ripped the lid off the barrel that held Thorin, and as they cowered inside the mountain to escape Smaug’s anger.  Death would not part him from Thorin, not Thorin’s death; and he would spend his life to give Thorin what he wanted.  After, though, to see the way the Dwarves were affected by the dragon’s hoarded gold, and to hear the value Thorin placed on the Arkenstone, above anything else … then Bilbo grew implacable.  Neither would he allow this worthless dross to separate them in life.  When Bilbo found the Arkenstone, he slipped it into his pocket.

 

Late in the night, when all slept but Thorin, who held watch that night, Bilbo stole to the throne room and threw the wretched stone into the abyss from whence it had come.  He hoped then that Thorin’s madness might lift, or that he would return to his senses when the Arkenstone could not be found; but regardless of what happened, Bilbo could not live in furious envy of a stone, no matter how beautiful.

 

But the madness of Thror did not lift from Thorin, and Bilbo’s fury grew.  Thorin would listen to neither Men nor Elves; and the Dwarves sung of war, and Thorin grew pleased at the thought.  He left their bed early and came to it late in his ongoing search for the Arkenstone.  Death had not come between them, but they were parted anyway.  Finally Bilbo slipped on his ring and hid from Thorin for an entire day and night while he thought.  When he returned, none of the Dwarves had noticed him missing in their gold frenzy.   _None_ of them: not his friends, not even Thorin had noticed him missing from their bed.  He wanted to scream in his fury, yet he had promised he would not leave Thorin.  He would not.

 

But neither did he take off his ring, and still Thorin did not notice his absence.  Ori was the first who did.

 

“Where has Bilbo been?” he asked at dinner.  Only then did the company look around, as if they might suddenly find him seated at the table.  Thorin grew still.

 

“He…” he said slowly.  “He searches for the Arkenstone.”  Bilbo closed his eyes.  He would not weep.

 

The company continued with dinner then, though they seemed shaken; and halfway through, Nori slammed his goblet down on the table.

 

“He doesn’t,” he cried.  “I cannot think of a time I have seen him in the last days.  Our Hobbit does not miss meals to search for the Arkenstone.”

 

Thorin hid his face in his hands for a long moment, then stood and pushed his chair back from the table so hard it fell.  He stalked away and Bilbo followed him as he went first to their untouched bed, then to the Gates of Erebor.  He stood there a long time.  Bilbo felt his hope rise; but then when Thorin left, he went back to the Dragon’s hoard.  Bilbo followed him there, to watch Thorin methodically search for the Arkenstone.  Bilbo put a large pile of gold between them.

 

“ _You_ have left _me_ , this time,” he called out.  Thorin’s head shot up.

 

“Bilbo?” he asked disbelievingly.  His head swivelled in Bilbo’s direction, and Bilbo moved.

 

“I am here,” Bilbo said.

 

“Why have you hidden yourself away?” Thorin asked.  “Why do you still hide from my eyes?”

 

Bilbo moved again.

 

“How long have I been hiding, Thorin?” he asked.  Thorin did not answer.  His eyes searched the room.

 

“You do not know, do you?” Bilbo sneered.  “It is not I who has left this time.”

 

“I do not understand you.” Thorin said.  “Will you not rejoin us?”

 

“Will you leave off your search for that thing and negotiate with those encamped at your door?” Bilbo asked.

 

Thorin began sorting through the gold again.

 

“I cannot stop until I have found it,” he said.

 

“You will not find it there,” Bilbo told him, and moved.  Thorin grew still again, as he had at the table earlier.

 

“What have you done with it, Bilbo?” he growled.  “What have you _done_?”

 

“It is only a rock, Thorin, and you ignore all else for it!” Bilbo cried.

 

“Bilbo...” Thorin growled threateningly.

 

“You have said that I was your greatest treasure, your _sanghivasha_ , but I have lost your heart to that rock,” Bilbo returned angrily.  “Or are you the liar between us?”

 

“Answer me, Hobbit!” Thorin yelled.  “ _What have you done with it_?”

 

“It is gone,” Bilbo replied.  He laughed bitterly.  “I thought this madness would lift from you.”

 

Thorin lifted a heavy jewelled goblet from the pile in front of him and heaved it at the space where Bilbo had stood moments before.

 

“Throw all the gold you would like,” Bilbo taunted as his tears fell.  “May it warm your bed and sooth your woes.”

 

“You prove again that you do not understand Dwarves,” Thorin bit out.  “I cannot leave the Arkenstone of my father, and my grandfather before him, to the dust!”

 

Bilbo would not reply to that.  He understood what held Thorin in its power well enough.

 

Thorin then seemed to try to calm himself.  Though his jaw clenched, he did not yell or throw anything else.

 

“If you loved me, you could never have done this,” he said.  “You have proven only that you have no honour, to steal it away like a thief.”

 

Bilbo scoffed.  “It is because I love you that I have done it,” he replied angrily.  “This is not who you are!”

 

“I cannot forgive it,” Thorin warned.  “Only should you bring it to me can there be peace again between us.”

 

“Then there shall be no peace between us,” Bilbo told him, “for it is gone where none can retrieve it.”

 

He moved again, and slipped on a small pile of coins, and kept rolling.  He scrambled to his feet and ran.  Behind him he heard Thorin roar and throw whatever was at hand.

 

Bilbo returned to their bedroom, curled up in a ball in the corner and cried.  When his tears dried, he sat there yet; it was late when Thorin returned, and his eyes searched the room as if he would find Bilbo there.  Bilbo was very quiet.

 

Thorin moved to their bed and sat on it.  He pulled Bilbo’s pillow to him, and held it to his face, and cried into it.  Bilbo felt tears rise to his eyes also, but he stifled his sobs.  After a time, Thorin lay down on the bed, Bilbo’s pillow still in his arms.  Bilbo quietly crept around to see his face.  Thorin did not sleep but stared unseeing at the walls.  Bilbo leaned against the wall and watched until his own eyes closed in sleep.  When he woke in the morning, Thorin was still there, his eyes open; and he did not leave until the cries of “Orcs!” brought him from the bed.  Bilbo waited a moment and then followed.

 

When Thorin and the company leapt into the battle, Bilbo was right behind them.  He followed Thorin as closely as he could, but he never removed his ring.  At first the company drove a wedge far into the Orcish horde; but perhaps they went too far, as then they were hard pressed, and often Bilbo found himself hemmed in as they guarded each other’s backs.  When he saw a break in their line, he dashed through, though he cursed himself for his stupidity as he did.  Now he could fight; but he must also watch for danger on all sides, from his friends as well as the enemy.  He tried to stay especially out of the way of Kíli’s bow.

 

As Orcs and Wargs came on, though, Bilbo realised he did make a difference in this battle.  He might not kill many, but he wounded and tripped and distracted enough that the company had an easier time.  Once, as the momentum of one Warg threw him forward on the ground, a charging Orc tripped on him to land directly on Nori’s blade.

 

“Bilbo?” Nori asked; but Bilbo had to dash away to help Fíli then, and could not answer.

 

His help did sometimes seem to give the Dwarves pause, as their foes staggered and fell without any visible cause, but he was not sure any but Nori knew he was there.  It did not matter; he did not fight so they would know it, but because he could not but stand with his friends at Thorin’s side.  At last Dáin’s reinforcements reached the small company, and Bilbo felt he might relax his guard a bit; but then Azog came smashing through Dáin’s line straight for Thorin.  Bilbo did not dare get between them, but Fíli and Kíli did.  Kíli’s arrows flew true, but Azog seemed to brush them off; and though Fíli wounded the Warg, it snarled and batted him to the side like a large cat with a toy.  Kíli ran to stand guard over his limp body, and Thorin faced Azog alone.

 

Bilbo did not know what to do.  It seemed disloyal, but he thought Thorin outmatched against Azog.  His bravery and skill were without peer, but Bilbo did not think he could stand long against Azog’s sheer size and strength.  Bilbo stood, and panted, and sliced at an Orc if it came too near, and he thought.  Azog’s Warg, he realised.  The white Warg must die, and then perhaps Thorin’s opportunity would come.  At least he would have more of a chance.

 

So Bilbo looked.  A rocky outcropping protected the company on one flank, and Azog on the Warg rode close.  He crossed to it, though he must occasionally pause to stop an Orc that strayed too close, and began to climb it as quickly as he could.  His heart beat so hard he could hardly hear anything else, even the noise of battle; and though he could hear Thorin’s voice, and Azog’s as they exchanged taunts, he could not understand them.

 

When he reached the rocky ledge he sought, he looked down and felt sick.  Thorin lay on the ground before Azog, _Orcrist_ only limply held in his hand.  Blood flowed down his sword arm.  Bilbo took a deep breath, and threw himself onto the white Warg’s back behind Azog.  He had no time to deal with the Warg, but drove Sting into Azog’s unprotected back.  Azog roared, and reared back, and reached with his clawed hand for his attacker.  His hook caught in the fabric of Bilbo’s coat, and Bilbo felt a sting from the hook along his own back before Azog lifted him by the hook and flung him away.  Bilbo hit the rocks, his head in its helmet snapping back against the outcropping. 

 

As he tumbled down from the heights, he thought he saw Thorin begin to rise to his feet; but the world was such a spinning whirl that he could not be sure.  He landed on his back on the hard ground, and managed to roll over before he vomited.  A nearby Orc heard him, and cautiously came to investigate; Bilbo thought it sheer luck that an arrow took him before he found Bilbo.  He tried to rise but his limbs would not obey him; he could not.  He did somehow turn so that his back was against the rocks, but when he tried to lift Sting his head spun worse.  Sting slipped from his hand; and Bilbo watched bemusedly as it became visible, Azog’s black blood coating the blade, before he fell unconscious.

 

He woke to find the battle over, the Orcs routed.  Still he could not move without the world spinning and nausea gripping him.  He lay there, panting, and watching as Dwarves, Elves, and Men carefully checked for wounded still laying amongst the dead.  A Man and an Elf both passed within five feet of him, but neither paused.  He wore his ring, he remembered.  He wrenched it from his finger and called out.  The Elf had not gone far; he startled to turn and find a Hobbit where none had lain before.  Bilbo gestured to Sting as the Elf lifted him carefully from the ground; the Elf sighed, but wiped the blood from Sting and slid it into its sheath.

 

“A battle like this is no place for a Hobbit,” the Elf told him.

 

“It is no place for anyone,” Bilbo replied, then gasped out, “I will be sick.”

 

The Elf gently turned him and knelt, and Bilbo retched again.

 

When he was done, the Elf lifted him once more.

 

“It is not far to the healing tents,” he told Bilbo, but Bilbo was so tired.  He closed his eyes and drifted off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> edited, October 17 2013.


	14. Awakening

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Recovery from the Battle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here I have taken a line directly from Tolkien; it is again marked by italics and an asterisk.

 

When he woke, his ears rang and the light stung his eyes.  He clenched them shut.

 

“Too bright,” he mumbled.  “Please, it hurts my eyes.”  A dark cloth was placed over his head.

 

“You are safe now,” a voice told him, “and though your head was hit hard, you will live.”

 

Bilbo tried to nod but it made his aching head worse.  The voice tutted.

 

“Do not try to move,” it chided him.  “You must rest here a while yet.”

 

“Yes,” Bilbo managed.  The clamour around him was so loud.  He was grateful when sleep took him again.

 

The next time he woke, it was dim and quiet.  It seemed to be night.  Slowly he sat up and looked around.  He lay in one of perhaps twenty cots in a large tent.  Dwarves, Elves and Men alike filled the other beds, though mostly Elves.  An Elven woman rolling bandages sat by a table against the tent wall.

 

“Where am I?” Bilbo asked her.  “What has happened?”

 

She looked up, and rose to come to his bedside.

 

“What do you remember?” she asked.  Bilbo thought.

 

“I was inside the mountain,” he said, “in the treasure room, and Thorin was throwing things at me; and then I ran away.”

 

“Nothing since?” she prompted.  Bilbo tried to remember more, but nothing came.

 

“Only tripping on the coins and running away,” he replied.  “That is the last thing.”

 

“Very well,” she said, and sighed.  “It is to be expected.  There has been a battle, and you suffered an injury to your head.  That is likely why you do not remember it.”

 

Bilbo felt sick.

 

“The Dwarves fought the Men and the Elves?” he asked.

 

“No,” she told him.  “All three, Dwarves and Men and Elves alike, fought against vast armies of Orcs and Wargs.”  Something that had clenched tight in Bilbo’s chest released, but not entirely.

 

“Can you tell me – do you know – has Thorin’s company survived?” he asked.

 

“I do not know,” she replied.  “I will check for you, but it must wait until the morn.  For now, let me check your injuries; and then perhaps you might sleep a bit more.”

 

“I do not know if I can until I know they are well,” Bilbo said, “but I will try.”

 

The Elf sighed, and gently checked Bilbo’s head and his back.

 

“I will send someone if you will rest,” she said.  “Most Dwarves are in their own healing tents.”  Bilbo clasped her hand.

 

“Thank you,” he said.  “I will try.”  And he did fall asleep before word came, but when he woke again it was to Gandalf smiling beside him, and the news that all in the company lived, though some had serious injuries: Thorin and Fíli the worst among them.  Fíli had broken ribs from when the Warg had hit him as well as deep gashes from its claws.  Thorin had lost much blood; and for a time the healers had feared for his life, but the most dangerous period had passed; though he was still weak he healed apace.  Gandalf said he had been grievously injured fighting Azog, but he had triumphed; and shortly thereafter the Eagles had come, and Beorn came to carry Fíli and Thorin to the healers.

 

Bilbo smiled.  “I am gladdened to hear it,” he said.

 

“Nori and Ori would like to see you as well,” Gandalf told him.  “Do you feel ready for more visitors?”  Bilbo nodded.

 

“No others?” he asked hesitantly. 

 

Gandalf did not answer him right away.

 

“I see,” Bilbo said.

 

“Thorin was near death,” Gandalf reminded him.  “I think they are all concerned for him, and it was not until your healer asked for word of the company that any knew you were at the battle.”

 

Bilbo nodded, though his heart clenched tight again to hear it.  None had asked for him.  None but Nori and Ori.

 

“I would like to see Ori and Nori, please,” he said, “when they are able to come.”

 

Gandalf squeezed his hand.

 

“I will tell them they are welcome,” he said.  He paused.  “No others?”

 

Bilbo blinked back tears and shook his head.

 

“If they ask,” he replied, “you may tell them I am well.  I would not take them from their king’s side.”

 

Gandalf squeezed his hand again.

 

“You are loved, Bilbo,” Gandalf told him.  “Remember that.”

 

“Yes,” Bilbo said.  “I do well remember how I was missed in the mountain.”  It had been Ori and Nori who had noticed his disappearance then as well, when no other had.

 

Gandalf seemed puzzled, but he did not speak again, only squeezed Bilbo’s hand and left the tent.

 

It was not long before Nori and Ori came to his tent.  They seemed overjoyed to see him, and Bilbo felt his spirits rise as well.  Though he was forgotten else, here he had two good friends.

 

“I saw you at the battle,” Nori told him.  “Well, I did not _see_ you, but I could see what you did.”

 

“I don’t remember it,” Bilbo said.  Ori shuddered.

 

“Perhaps it is just as well,” he said.  “I think I would like to forget it if I could.”

 

“I am sure it was terrible,” Bilbo replied, “but it is very strange not to know.”

 

They sat in silence for a while, then Ori sat up as if he had suddenly thought of something.

 

“Dori asked after you,” he said. 

 

“And Fíli and Kíli,” Nori added quickly.

 

Bilbo only looked at them.

 

“You lie,” he said.  “Do you think I have not been told how little I was thought of?”

 

Ori hung his head.

 

“It is true that Dori did ask, when we told him where we went; and sent his best wishes to you,” he admitted.

 

“Yes, when he was reminded I exist,” Bilbo said.  “Don’t worry.  I am resigned to it.  And I have two good friends here beside me.  It is all I need.”

 

Nori only shook his head.

 

“We wronged you greatly these last days in the mountain,” he said.  “I never knew that gold should have such power over Dwarves.  But Balin and Dwalin have not left Thorin’s side; and Fíli cannot leave his bed; and Kíli will not leave him, not even to see Thorin.  But I am sure they would like to know how you do.”

 

“If they wanted to know they would ask,” Bilbo told him.  “If you are my friends, you will not say that you have seen me.  I will not be visited out of guilt that they forgot me.”

 

“It is only the day after the battle,” Nori chided.  “You must give them time.”

 

“You thought of me,” Bilbo reminded him.

 

“I knew you were there!” Nori cried. “You are very hard on us Dwarves sometimes, Bilbo Baggins.  You cannot imagine what the call of the gold was like: I thought of nothing else, only its beauty, until Ori woke me up.  Even then … I could not go back down lest I succumb to its lure.  I think it is because you are a Hobbit that you did not feel its pull as we did.  And I think some are still in a daze as they recover.”

 

“Thorin also liked to say that I did not understand Dwarves when we disagreed,” Bilbo returned, “but Balin said that I could see you better sometimes for being apart from you.  I was there, Nori.  I can believe it was difficult to come out of it, but I think you succumbed willingly, all of you.”

 

Nori sighed.

 

“It was hard,” Ori said.  “It was, Bilbo; and I did not know I _needed_ to resist it.”

 

Bilbo shook his head.  “It is the great weakness of your people,” he said.  “It drove Thror to Moria; and Thorin here to fight Smaug, and it changed him—and all of you— into Dwarves I did not recognise.  You throw yourselves all unthinking into danger for its promise, and then you lose yourselves in its allure.”

 

Nori shook his head, and patted Bilbo’s hand.

 

“It is good to see you and know you are not in danger,” he said.  “If you can argue so, I know you will be fine.”

 

Bilbo laughed a little, and Ori hugged him, and they left.

 

Bilbo lay back down, but after a moment, he slipped on his ring and rose from his bed to follow them.

 

All the company save Fíli and Kíli did wait outside a smaller healer’s tent; it must be private, for only Thorin.  Bilbo found a great barrel that sat against the tent wall and slowly sat so he could lean on it and be out of the way.  He listened to the quiet voices discussing Thorin’s recovery, and began to relax.  His eyes drooped, and he slept.

 

When he woke, it was to evening, and a great clamour around the tent.  Thorin and Gandalf faced each other with the company ranged uneasily around him.  Thorin was pale and leaned on Dwalin’s shoulder, but Bilbo was content to see him well enough to rise from his bed.  Then he noticed Óin trying to herd him back into the tent; it seemed he was _not_ well enough to leave his sickbed, but he had anyway.

 

“What do you mean, he is lost?” Thorin cried.  “He should never have been at that battle at all!”

 

“I did not know it until the battle was over,” Gandalf countered.  “His healer said only that he left his bed sometime this afternoon, but she never saw him leave the tent.”

 

Thorin seemed to grow more frustrated to hear that rather than less.

 

“It is that cursed ring,” he said.  “He was already good at disappearing.”  His eyes sought Nori’s.  

“If I learn you helped him to leave in his condition…”

 

Nori raised his hands.

 

“I would not,” he said.  “He was there when Ori and I went to see him after luncheon.”

 

Thorin’s eyes narrowed.

 

“What did you say to him?” he asked.  Bilbo did not think he had ever heard Thorin’s voice so threatening.

 

Nori lowered his eyes, and Ori looked away.

 

“What did you say?” Thorin yelled.

 

Nori sighed.

 

“We spoke of the battle,” he said, “which Bilbo said he did not remember.”

 

“And?” Thorin demanded.  “That was not all.”

 

Nori was silent.

 

“We spoke of your injuries, and Fíli’s.” Ori said reluctantly.  “He knew already that none had asked after him.”

 

A guilty silence fell over the company.

 

Thorin leaned heavily on Dwalin’s shoulder and breathed hard.  He stared at Gandalf.

 

“He should never have been there!” he grated.

 

“Do not blame me for losing your hobbit,” Gandalf replied.  “He was not with _me_ when we went to battle.”  His voice softened.  “And I am sure he has not gone far now.”

 

Thorin did not answer, but signalled Dwalin to turn and allowed Oin to chivvy him back into his tent.  Bilbo closed his eyes and leaned his head against the barrel.  He could hear Balin and Ori’s voices speaking nearby.

 

“He was well, you say?” Balin asked.  “Though unhappy, it seems.”

 

“He was pale but coherent,” Ori replied.  “And he seemed hurt, yes; and angry about the gold sickness.”

 

“It is as if waking from a dream one thought was real,” Balin said.  “I remember vaguely hearing you ask after him, but … I could not care; only the gold seemed…”

 

“It was the same for me,” Ori said.

 

“You are too understanding,” Balin told him.  “You did think of him, even in the midst of it.”  Ori did not answer.

 

“It will torture Thorin until he is found,” Balin added.  He sighed heavily.  “I had hoped I might never have to see him again the way he was when Bilbo left the mountain.”

 

“ _If_ Bilbo is found,” Ori said.  “He hid a long time in Thranduil’s halls.”  Balin sighed again.

 

“If he is found,” he agreed sombrely.

 

If they spoke more, Bilbo did not hear it.  He thought they had moved away, though.  He thought on what he did.  Was it cruel, to hide so?  He didn’t think so, but Thorin had been upset, and Balin, unhappy.  He only wanted to know how his Dwarves did without having to face them.  He didn’t want to see how little he meant to them.  Bilbo began to cry quietly.  He saw now how greatly he had been hurt when the company lost themselves in the dragon’s gold.  He didn’t want to hurt them now, but he couldn’t stand to see their eyes pass over him as they had before.  At least if he wore his ring, he could think that they had an excuse not to see him.

 

But tears cannot last forever, and Bilbo had learnt to be brave.  After a time, he dried his eyes and slipped carefully into Thorin’s tent.  He would face the one who mattered most to him.

 

Thorin lay with his face to the tent flap, his visage drawn and unhappy.  As the tent flap fluttered at Bilbo’s entrance, he struggled to sit.  Bilbo removed his ring and came to Thorin’s side.

 

“Shh,” he said.  “Do not; you will make your wounds worse.”

 

Thorin did not listen but reached hesitantly to touch Bilbo’s face.

 

“Bilbo?” he asked, his voice thick.

 

“I am here,” Bilbo replied.  “I have said I would not leave you again.”

 

“You did leave me, Bilbo; do you think it does not count because you only wore your cursed ring?” Thorin accused, but his tone was gentle, as was his hand on Bilbo’s face.

 

“No, I did not leave,” Bilbo said.  “ _You_ left _me_.  We have already had this conversation.”

 

Thorin sighed, and drew Bilbo closer into an embrace.

 

“I do not wish to argue with you, _sanghivasha_ ,” he said, and pressed a kiss to Bilbo’s forehead.  “I promise we will have time enough to argue later.”  For a time they simply held each other.

 

“I thought you safe in the mountain,” Thorin added after a while.  “It gave me strength.  I did not worry because I knew you hid there, and only feared that we should not return before you worried yourself.”

 

“I don’t remember it,” Bilbo told him.  “But I must have gone with you; how else could I have come to this?”  He pulled back a bit that he might look into Thorin’s eyes.  “I have sworn it; I will not leave you.  I must have known you went to the battle, and I went with you.”

 

Thorin pulled him close again.

 

“And you wore your ring,” Thorin said.  “I will be glad of it now, though I have hated it these past days; for I think it may have saved your life.  A Hobbit, in such a battle...”  His voice trailed away.

 

“I am sure of it,” Bilbo said, “for I woke with my back to a rock, without Sting in my hand.  I was helpless against any Orc or Warg who might have seen me.”

 

Thorin’s arms tightened around Bilbo so that he squeaked.

 

“Mahal,” he breathed.  “I bless it, then.”  He paused.  “You fought near the high rock outcropping?”

 

Bilbo sighed.  “Thorin, I have said I do not remember; I remember none of it,” he said.  “The last I remember is you throwing things at me in the treasure room.”

 

“I would not have that be your last memory of me,” Thorin said disconsolately.  “I wish you had forgotten all the time I was lost in the gold.  I do not think you can call me _sanmelhekh_ now.”  He shook his head.  “But that is not what I wish to speak of.  Bilbo, I think you saved my life.”

 

“There is no way to know,” Bilbo said, “and I cannot think it matters.  If I did, I was glad to do it; if I didn’t, I would have wanted to if I could.  But there is no way to know.”

 

Nevertheless Thorin persisted.

 

“I lay on the ground in front of Azog, my arm useless, _Orcrist_ slipping from my grasp,” he said.  “And he cried out in pain, and reached for his back; and though nothing seemed to be there, he threw something away towards the rocks.  He did not have nothing; he had _you_ , and you hurt him badly; for I rose and fought him with Orcrist in my left hand, and he was terribly weakened.  You did, Bilbo; you saved my life.”

 

Bilbo pulled back and took Thorin’s face in his hands.

 

“I care only that you live,” he said, “and you do.  I do not care how.  You are still my _sanmelhekh_.”

 

“Still, though I have never deserved it?” Thorin asked, disbelieving.  “I have never deserved the devotion you have shown me.”  He paused and searched Bilbo’s face.  “We are not done with this,” Thorin warned him.  “I owe you a life debt, for your wounds came to you protecting me.”

 

“We are not done anyway,” Bilbo said, “for I will not leave you, never again, though you bury yourself in gold madness.  Though then the name of my book would have to be _Sudel Khuzdu: Ghivâsh ra Arkenston e_.”

 

Thorin laughed, perhaps bitterly.  “ _Sudel Khuzdu: Ghivâsh ra Arkenstone_ ,” he corrected.

 

Bilbo repeated it after him: “ _Sudel Khuzdu: Ghivâsh ra Arkenstone_.”

 

“The curse of it is that you are right,” Thorin said.  “It seems you do know Dwarves better than we know ourselves.”

 

“Balin has always said sometimes it is a benefit to have an outside eye,” Bilbo replied, “but I came on this quest because the king I loved told me that I did not understand how Dwarves valued such ‘glorious undertakings,’ and I did not.  I do not understand everything about you; and I do not think I ever will, though I spend my life in the study.”

 

“Perhaps the world would be a better place if Dwarves valued _food and cheer and song above hoarded gold_ ,*” Thorin said.  “But I do not know how to change who we are.”

 

“Do you not?” asked Bilbo.  “Do you think I became an adventurer because it came naturally to Hobbits?”  He kissed Thorin tenderly.  “You must only think of the day which is upon you, and what is important to you, not always the great task.  Had I thought without ceasing on the great task, I should have stayed home with my books.  I always believed we would die at the mountain.”

 

Thorin sought his mouth again.

 

“And ‘what is important to you’?” he asked when they parted.  “What did you think of then?”

 

Bilbo smiled at him.  “Whom, not what, did I think of, my _sanmelhekh_ ,” he replied.  “Whom did I think of.”  He closed his eyes and leaned against Thorin.  “I grow weary, Thorin.  May we lie down here, together?”

 

Thorin carefully lay down on his uninjured side and beckoned Bilbo to him.  Bilbo crawled gratefully onto his cot and lay next to Thorin’s warm body and allowed himself to drift away into sleep.

 

“ _Sanghivasha_ ,” he heard Thorin murmur as he did.  “The greatest treasure of my life.”

 

 

_Many years later_

 

 

“And you have never found the Arkenstone?” Balin asked.  “I think it was a great cause of our curse, at least to you, who come from Thror’s line.”

 

Thorin shook his head.

 

“Bilbo found it,” he said, “and I do not know what happened to it.  He says it is gone.”

 

“And you have no idea where?  You will not convince him to tell you?” Balin asked.  “You are stronger than any of us, to fight such a pull.”

 

At that, Thorin smiled, and beckoned Bilbo from across the room, where he stood speaking with Nori.  Bilbo rolled his eyes at Thorin, but carefully knocked his forehead to Nori’s and began to cross to Thorin and Balin.

 

“Perhaps his smile is smug in the throne room,” Thorin replied, “but on my order we will excavate there no more.  The Heart of the Mountain may remain where it is.  I do not value it above my _sanghivasha._ ”  He and Balin fell silent as Bilbo reached them.  Thorin placed his arm around Bilbo’s shoulders and pressed a kiss to the crown of his head.

 

“Are you pleased, my treasure?” Thorin asked Bilbo.  “Though I do not think you will ever convince me that what you have written can be impartial?”

 

“Thorin, I am determined that one day you will understand what a historian does,” Bilbo said, laughing.  “Though of all my books, perhaps this one is least so.” 

 

Balin reached out and squeezed Bilbo’s shoulder.

 

“No other could have written _Gugûnel Erebor_ ,” he told Bilbo fondly.  “I could not have done it justice, and Ori has told me the same.  Though I must agree with Thorin in this way:  you have been too kind to us, far kinder than we deserve.”

 

“You do not know how to properly value your Dwarven heroes,” Bilbo said.  “Remember:  an outside eye.”

 

“I well remember,” Balin said, nodding.  “But it is strange to see oneself in a history, and read of events I took part in.  _Enukhush Azanulbizaru_ was one thing, but this is another all together.”

 

“And you do not give yourself credit enough,” Thorin chided, but Bilbo rolled his eyes.

 

“I cannot write of events no one witnessed,” he replied, and his tone was fondly exasperated.

 

“Nori and I—“ Thorin began.

 

“Can only speculate, and I do not remember,” Bilbo interrupted.  “I do not mind it.  I write of Dwarves, not Hobbits.”

 

Balin laughed and bowed to both of them.  “I will leave you to your argument; I think it best I have no part in this fight between you.”

 

Bilbo wrinkled his nose at Balin, but Thorin laughed and waved him away.  After he was gone, Bilbo turned to Thorin.

 

“I wish you would dissuade him from this venture to Moria,” he said.  “I cannot think it wise.”

 

Thorin sighed and embraced him.

 

“I have tried, _sanghisvasha_ ,” he said.  “Even the most reasonable among us are subject to this desire for glory, and Azanulbizar is where Fundin fell.  I believe he sees this as a way to honour his father’s memory.”

 

Bilbo only looked at him, his eyes imploring.

 

“Ah, my heart,” Thorin said.  “I will try again.  And perhaps Dwalin can help.  I do not believe he is as enamoured of this expedition as Balin is.  But in the end, if he wishes, we must let him go.  And you have said it yourself, you never expected we should defeat Smaug and retake the mountain.”

 

“I know well what Dwarven heroes can do, but you had Men and Elves as well as Dain’s army at your side when the Orcs and Wargs attacked,” Bilbo replied.  “Even Dwarves cannot do the impossible.”

 

“And a Hobbit,” Thorin said, smiling at him.  “I had a Hobbit by my side, and he was the greatest hero of us all.  Perhaps we should find Balin a Hobbit of his own.”

 

Bilbo sighed and leaned his head against Thorin’s shoulder.

 

“We shall send all help we can give him,” Thorin continued.  “If it can be done, _sanghivasha_ , Balin will do it; and we will help him all we can.”

 

“Do you ever think I will understand your people?” Bilbo asked wistfully.  “For all I know you, I do not understand this need in you.”

 

“All peoples should be blessed with one who views them as kindly as you see us,” Thorin replied.  “I have thought these many years that in ways you understand us better than we understand ourselves, and yet you have always seen us with love.  Certainly no other knows me better, for all my faults; and I do not deserve the love you give me.  But I am selfish as any Dwarf, and I will keep you as long as you let me.”

 

“Then you shall have me always,” Bilbo told him.  “For I have sworn it; I have left you enough.  I will not leave you again until death separates us.”

 

Thorin held him close, and they leant against each other in silence amongst their friends, until Thorin spoke again.

 

“I thought for many years that love could not touch me, and then I met you and knew I was wrong,” he said.  “And in the years we were apart, I cursed it, for it would not let me go, and the pain was more than I could bear.”  Bilbo opened his mouth to speak, but Thorin placed his finger on Bilbo’s lips and Bilbo stilled.  “Yet to have you by my side, I would suffer it all again.  When it comes to the end, I will be grateful for the time I have had with you.”  He tilted Bilbo’s chin up, and kissed him gently and thoroughly, until Bilbo was clinging to him and gasping.  “But it is not the end yet, and I would not have you look forward to our deaths so easily.  Did you not tell me, think only of the day that is upon us?  And today is a day of glory for you.”

 

Slowly Bilbo nodded.  “I will,” he said.  “I will live for each day with you.”

 

Thorin raised an eyebrow.  “And after, should it come to that.” 

 

For a time, Bilbo was silent.  Thorin’s arms tightened around him. 

 

“You must promise me,” he told Bilbo.  “This you must swear to me as well.  Should it be me who goes first, you will live after I am gone to stone.”

 

Bilbo lowered his head and clung tightly to Thorin.  “I swear it,” he whispered.

 

“Then I am content,” Thorin replied, and gently tilted Bilbo’s chin up that their eyes could meet.  “Long has this worried at me, but I know well your word’s worth.”  He smiled fondly at Bilbo.  “We have come far together, have we not?” he asked.  “Whatever comes, with you by my side, I am ready.”  And then he looked around the room, and his smile grew seductive.  “Perhaps we are done here?  I would congratulate you more in private.”

 

Bilbo’s own smile bloomed on his face, and he laughed.  “Can you not congratulate me here, my _sanmelhekh_?” he asked coyly.  Thorin growled low, and Bilbo’s laughter peeled through the room.  “I am ready to retire, my king.  I believe the rest shall have to manage as best they can without us.”

 

Thorin smiled and lifted Bilbo into his arms.  “Then we are leaving, _sanghivasha_.  The rest of the world may wait.”  And Bilbo Baggins, scholar of Dwarven history, held tight to Thorin Oakenshield, King under the Mountain in Erebor, as they left to the sounds of the company’s laughter.  As a child with his history books he could not have imagined such a life for himself, but he was like Thorin in this:  he would not trade any of it for another life either, for now he could not imagine another.  He smiled to himself, and leant his head against Thorin’s shoulder, and wondered what unimagined stories would yet unfold in his future.  He hoped he had many stories yet to tell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sudel Khuzdu: Ghivâsh ra Arkenstone: The Most Dangerous Danger to Dwarves: Treasure and the Arkenstone
> 
> Gugûnel Erebor: The Return (of all Returns) to Erebor
> 
>  
> 
> edited, October 17 2013. If there are more punctuation errors, I don't want to know!


End file.
